


She Who Hunted the Hunter

by hecalledherlittlewolf



Series: The Girl Who Cried Wolf [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Companionship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, Gay, Gay Male Character, Graphic Violence, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Tension, Sexual Tension, Wayward Daughter, Werewolves, mention of abusive relationships, mention of rape, romeo and juliet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 10:31:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4431869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hecalledherlittlewolf/pseuds/hecalledherlittlewolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Silver Hand: a community, an organisation, a family. Much like the Companions of Whiterun. The only difference?</p><p>The Companions are werewolves, and the Silver Hand are werewolf hunters.</p><p>The Silver Hand originated from a group of villages that banded together to fight the werewolf menace, and has expanded over the centuries. One does not simply join the Silver Hand; you're born into it. Avril is one such person who was born into the ranks of the werewolf hunters. Being the daughter of the High Chief comes with its own challenges, and Avril is not one to refuse a challenge.</p><p>When her Proving brings her face-to-face with Vilkas, a werewolf born into the Companions of Whiterun, she finds herself questioning everything she's ever known. Her connection to the burly wolf puts her in a dangerous situation. High Chief Garrett would never suffer a werewolf sympathizer... even if it meant killing his own daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Proving

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, guys, this came to me during one of the Companions quest where I had to infiltrate a Silver Hand fort to retrieve the plans and, being the sneaky type that I am, I went through completely unseen. I couldn't help but become fascinated with how the Silver Hand warriors interacted, how they seemed so close-knit and.. well.. they reminded me of the Companions. It made me feel kind of guilty for slaughtering them all. So I had to bring them some justice.
> 
> I have no regrets! I hope you enjoy!

Avril takes a deep breath to steady herself, looking around her room to make sure she isn't forgetting anything. That would be just her luck, wouldn't it? Set off on her Proving only to realize she left her breeches at home.

She mentally relives every lesson, every instruction, and all of her training that her father bequeathed to her. High Chief Garrett is a strong, burly brute of a man and there is a reason he is both loved and feared among the Silver Hand. He has never, ever lost a fight.

The number of wolves slaughtered by her father is a constant shadow over Avril's head. Hundreds of supernatural canine heads on pikes trailing along behind her every step of the way. Until today. Today is the day she proves herself.

Today is the day she kills her first werewolf.

Avril secures the latch on her pack and allows herself a moment of pause.  _This is it..._

A memory drifts through her mind, bringing a smile to her face. Her first training session.

_"As a Silver Hand, you must learn the basics of each weapon before choosing a specialization. You must be resourceful, for you may not always have the comfort of a familiar weapon. Sometimes you must use what you have at your disposal; you must be prepared for this."_

_Avril nods excitedly, bobbing on her heels with impatience. This is it! She finally gets to train with_ real _weapons!_

_Garrett takes a silver sword from the table nearby, where several specially crafted weapons are laid out in preparation for use. A greatsword, a warhammer, a war axe, several daggers, a greataxe, a spiked mace. There is one weapon notably absent from the display._

_"Father? Won't I be learning how to shoot a bow?" Avril asks, eyeing the set of weapons each forged with a signature enchanted silver that is especially deadly to werewolves._

_"Maybe someday, pip," Garrett says, grinning at his dark-haired daughter. "For now, you must learn to train with blades. If you cannot find your match with the blades, I give you my word I will let you attempt a bow. Okay?"_

_Avril nods rapidly and beams. "Okay, Father!"_

_"Good girl. Now, then, let me show you the battle ready stance..."_

Avril is pulled from her reverie by a knock at the door. She turns and quirks a brow. "Come in."

Jon steps halfway through the door, a hand over his eyes and a wide grin on his face. "Are you decent, little sis?"

Avril rolls her eyes and grabs a pillow from her bed to throw at him. He dodges it easily, even with his eyes covered, and laughs.

"Oh, come on. The uninitiated striking at the superior? Tsk tsk. That's bad form, even for you."

He dodges another pillow before Avril runs out of ammo and crosses her arms over her chest. "Come to wish me luck, O Wise One?"

Jon waves a hand dismissively. "Nah. Just making sure you didn't forget your trousers." He scans her up and down, nodding with satisfaction. "Seems to be in order. But, dear sister, those _boots_ with that _shirt?_ Bah, what am I to do with you?"

Avril snorts. "Oh, bite me, pighead."

Jon grins. "Gladly, so long as you remembered to wash this morning. Wouldn't want to sink my teeth into foul meat." He thinks a moment, then says, "You know, that might actually be a good wolf repellent."

Avril walks over and bops her brother over the head, earning a cackle from him. Jonathon is significantly taller than her, rather tall for a Breton really, and that matched with the black stubble along his chin and jaw is a dead give-away of their significant age difference. He is at least ten years older than her, and his Proving is long past.

The two siblings seem to sober after a few moments of good-hearted laughter, and Jon gives his sister a sincerely kind look. "Take care of yourself out there, sister. Don't forget anything Father or I have taught you. You'll need all the wisdom we've imparted on your meager little brain." He flicks her on the forehead and Avril grins affectionately.

"I'll be fine. I have Adrie, remember?" Avril says, pointing a thumb at the bow slung across her back.

Jon shrugs. "Eh, I suppose the old girl has her uses. She was made by an exceptionally impressive blacksmith, after all, and a rather handsome one at that. What, with his luscious black hair and devastating smile and unmatched charm and wit...."

"...and his insufferable arrogance and overly groomed ego," Avril interjects, smirking.

Jon grins. "Part of my charm, little sister. Watch yourself in the field. I'd hate to have to carve you out of a fur ball's gut."

With that, Jon pats his sister on the shoulder and exits the room. Avril takes another deep breath, closes her eyes a moment to mentally prepare herself... then sets out for Dustman's Cairn.

~~\------------------------------~~

The trek from Driftshade headquarters in the Pale to Dustman's Cairn in Whiterun Hold is long and arduous, but rather uneventful, save for a few Frostbite spiders and wolves (the non-supernatural kind, that is).

When the ancient stone mound comes into view, Avril lets out a breath. There are no horses nearby or any obvious signs of recent entrance. Hopefully she got here in time.

Once inside the musty crypt, she draws her bow and creeps through the main chamber, mindful of the black sarcophagi along the walls. It doesn't look like anyone has been here. The Companions of Jorrvaskr are not exactly the stealthy type; if one of those hulking brutes had plundered through here, Avril would know.

Avril silently stalks deeper and deeper into the Nordic tomb until she reaches the final chamber. She smiles to herself. The contacts were right; a shard of Wuuthrad is here.

After Ysgramor's death, Wuuthrad was shattered. How, exactly, Avril isn't sure, but she knows that the pieces were once kept and held sacred by the Companions, until the Silver Hand stole them and split them between the various groups across Skyrim, to ensure all of the pieces would never again fall into the hands of the Companions.

Ysgramor's march was glorious and the remains of his fabled weapon are definitely relics to be cherished, but the Companions lost their right to Wuuthrad when they slandered Ysgramor's name by making a deal with the Glenmoril witches in order to gain supernatural prowess. Ysgramor and his mighty weapon stood for honor and valor; the Companions are abominations that mock the very memory of him.

Avril steps up to the stone altar and carefully examines the pedestal upon which sits the shard of Wuuthrad. It's obviously a pressure plate. What it will do, Avril isn't sure, but she doesn't plan on finding out. She opens her coin purse and estimates the weight of the shard; too much or too little weight could activate the plate. She plucks five coins from the purse and weighs them in her hand, examining the shard. Wuuthrad was a hefty great axe, probably made of some pretty weighted metal. Five disks of pure gold should be about right.

She begins the very slow-going task of replacing the shard on the pedestal with the coins, not daring to breath lest she misstep and set off the trap.

With the coins in place and the shard tucked safely into her bag, she silently escapes the chamber, leaving the dormant draugr in the room undisturbed.

Avril creeps through the caverns of the crypt in search of a suitable place to lie in wait. There are several suitable places, really, but none with few enough draugr. It would tip off her quarries of her presence if she dispatched the draugr; after all, walking dead men don't die on their own. However, the Companions that enter this barrow are her test, and she must be the one to kill them. The draugr cannot do her work for her.

Her prowling is cut short, however, when she hears the grating of a portcullis.

~~\------------------------------~~

Vilkas crosses his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes, glaring through the stone bars of the portcullis at the whelp. "Now look what you've gotten yourself into. Hold on, let me find the release."

The man behind the bars smiles impishly like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar and pockets the potions he had entered the alcove to collect. There was a lever there, how could he not pull it!?

Vilkas sighs and walks around into the corridor leading out of the large chamber. He can see the lever already. "Damn whelps," he grumbles to himself.

Just then, he picks up an odd scent. It's not the usual stench of undead corpses that permeates within these Nordic crypts. Something's off. There's another scent here, strong enough that is must be very recent.

"Hircine's flaming ass," he swears, lifting a hand to curl his fingers around the hilt of the greatsword strapped cross his back, but he already knows he won't make it far enough to draw it.

"Tsk tsk tsk. I wouldn't do that if I were you, pooch," Avril purrs.

Vilkas groans and slowly turns around to face his opponent. He places the odd smell as soon as he sees her.

_Silverite._

Avril notices the wolf's nose twitch. "Don't like the smell of my specially crafted arrowheads? Oh, but I worked so very hard on them."

"I prefer the smell of Silver Hand blood. It's very appetizing," Vilkas quips, glaring at the Breton girl. Standing next to her, he would tower over her. From this distance, however, and in the dim light with her silverite arrows trained on him.. he has to admit she looks pretty lethal.

"I'm sure," she sneers. "Too bad yours is the only blood being spilled today."

With that, she lets the arrow fly. Much to her credit, she doesn't seem surprised when Vilkas catches the arrow by the shaft just before it meets its mark between his eyes.

"Nice try, mince meat," he growls, grinning wolfishly.

Avril smiles. "I never try, dog. I do."

Vilkas's smile fades when the poison coating the shaft starts seeping into his hand. He drops it as if it burned him, then charges at Avril. He doesn't reach her before the sleeping concoction takes effect, and the werewolf crumples to the ground, muttering muffled curses before he sputters out of consciousness.

Avril kneels before the wolf and turns him onto his back, brushing the stray tendrils of hair from his face. "Mm, you are rather lovely to look at. Sadly, I'm not into dogs."

Resigning to finish him off later, she steps into the other chamber and peers into the alcove where a very impatient-looking Nord leans against the wall. He straightens up quickly when he sees her.

"Where is Vilkas?" he demands, drawing his sword.

Avril grins. "Ooh, nice first question. Most people start with, 'who are you'. It seems rather stupid, really, but I suppose you can't expect much intelligence from wild dogs."

"Wild dogs?" he asks, not understanding. Avril lifts a brow.

"You don't know, do you? Wow, you must be fresh crop, then. You've stepped into a pit of vipers and you don't even realize what they are." Avril laughs and latches an arrow on her bowstring. "Oh well. It's irrelevant. You're going to die like the dog you would have become."

Avril lets off the shot and the arrow finds its mark in the Nord's skull, sending him crumpling to the ground. Before she can react, however, she's caught off guard by someone appearing behind her.

Vilkas bridles Avril with the arrow shaft and pulls her back against him, waiting until the poison seeps into her mouth. She grunts and smacks her head back, cracking the back of her skull against Vilkas's face and likely breaking his nose. He stumbles back, and Avril spits out the arrow, then spins around and aims to whack him over the head with her bow but misses and strikes the steel shoulder of his armor.

Avril knows the draught works fast and she won't have time to dispatch the wolf before it hits her and she passes out. She swears under her breath and flees toward the entrance to the crypt, screaming as loud as she can to stir the draugr in her wake. They ignore her in favor of the rabid Companion storming after her, blocking him off so he has to deal with them before he can pursue her.

Avril bursts through the heavy stone door and falls to her knees in the dirt, gasping as the draught weakens her muscles and urges her to stop, but she pulls herself up and forces her aching limbs to ascend the spiraling stone stairs and break for the sparse woods in the distance. She just barely reaches the tree line before she collapses into the brush, out cold.

 

Vilkas rushes out of the crypt and up the stairs, his mind still muggy from being poisoned. The Breton is nowhere to be found. The way she attempted to strike him, it didn't seem like the draught affected her, but her fleeing may have been a tip that she was afraid of falling unconscious. Vilkas cannot be sure. The girl is either long gone, or passed out somewhere in the tree line. He doesn't have time to search for her. He'll have his chance to seek vengeance.

But first... he must lay the body of the fallen new blood to rest.

 


	2. By the Light of Two Moons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avril's mistake to not kill Vilkas when she had the chance is not one she will make twice. Furious and itching for revenge, she sets out to do what she should've done in the Cairn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me if you don't like how I'm pacing the story, I know this was a monster of a chapter and I'm kind of trying to find where I'm comfortable. I have a habit for just closing my mind and writing, without really paying much attention to logic. Constructive criticism is VERY welcome, I'm sure I could use it!
> 
> I greatly appreciate the kudos and hope you all are enjoying my story! This is really fun to write, it's been a while since I had a story like this :) As always, feedback is appreciated ♥

Vilkas kneels beside the body of the Nord man, an arrow lodged in the skull. He shakes his head and sighs.

_Damn Silver Hand..._

He stands and draws his greatsword, the mission of this journey still at hand. He has to retrieve the shard of Wuuthrad.

The rest of the draugr in the crypt are no match for Vilkas in his boiling agitation. He didn't much care for the new whelp, but the man didn't deserve to die, especially not at the hand of some sneaky little Breton girl. The Silver Hand have no damn sense of honor, shooting a man when he's trapped behind bars.

The inner sanctum of the cairn is vast, with several sarcophagi lining the walls. Vilkas treads lightly through the chamber, his eyes on the altar at the top of the stone stairs.

What he finds is nothing short of infuriating. In the place where he is certain the shard would have been, a meager sum of gold sits upon the pedestal. Vilkas curses loudly and slams his fist on the altar, no regard for the small horde of sleeping draugr surrounding him. The draugr, however, do not stir, much to his surprise.

Vilkas shakes his head and leaves the chamber, returning to the side of his fallen Shield-Sibling. He hefts the Nord's body over his shoulder and grunts, determined to see the man to a proper end.

 _I will find that damn little wench_ , Vilkas vows to himself, _and I will kill her._

~~\--------------------~~

Avril wakes in a sour mood. The cold ground and the brush of thorns she finds herself in does nothing to ease the throbbing in her temples.

The after-effects of the sleeping draught are sure to put any ale-induced hangover to shame. Avril crafted it herself with that very intention. She didn't intend, however, to have it used on her.

Avril massages her temples and groans. Then, in a panic, she searches the ground for her bow, unable to recall if she still had it in her hands when she fell unconscious. By some Divine miracle, Adrie lies nearby in the grass, probably dropped when Avril collapsed. Much to Avril's dismay, however, she notices that her quiver only has three arrows instead of the thirty she had before. She realizes with a twinge of irritation that her green Orcish arrows are currently strewn throughout the green underbrush of the sparse tree line, and in the late evening, it's incredibly difficult to see them.

Despite nearly half an hour of searching, Avril only manages to recover nineteen arrows. The others are nowhere to be found.

With the time spent searching, Avril wallows in the shame of her mistake. Why didn't she kill that damn dog when she had the chance? Jon warned her not to be dramatic. It could very well get her killed.

And this time, it almost did.

With the meager remainder of her arrows stored safely in her quiver, she grips her bow and heads back in the direction of that damnable crypt. She may have let Vilkas get away, but she refuses to return home empty-handed.

 

The entry chamber is strewn with the corpses of five draugr. Vilkas must have quite the arm. Avril gingerly steps over the desiccated corpses and heads deeper into the crypt.

 _"Damn it!"_ Avril curses when she enters the chamber with the portcullis. The body is gone.

"That _fucking_ Nord!" she swears, cursing the entire race and their damned customs for laying fallen comrades to rest. Vilkas probably took the body back to Whiterun to burn it on a blighted _pyre!_

Avril picks up an urn and hurls it at the wall, not giving a bloody care whether or not there are any draugr left to wake. She'll slaughter them all in fury.

Her rampage is cut short, however, by the distant, dull thud of a door closing. The sound reverberates from somewhere deeper in the crypt. Avril's blood boils with blood-thirsty delight. Vilkas must be looking for the shard.

Avril quickly stalks deeper into the tomb. Perhaps he didn't expect her to return, or maybe he's hoping she does so he can finish her off. It matters little. Avril's fury-clouded mind is on a warpath, and that blighted dog is her target.

Just before the entrance to the inner sanctum, Avril presses against the wall and readies an arrow. She takes a deep breath, a wolfish grin tugging her lips, and turns the corner.

What she sees would almost be comical if it didn't make steam burst from her ears. The man in front of the stone altar is not Vilkas, but rather a hapless thief, clad in furs and seemingly unarmed. Avril expects he most likely has an unseen dagger strapped to his hip. The comical part, however, is the look on the thief's face.

For he just swiped the five gold coins from the pressured pedestal, and has turned around to see every black sarcophagus in the room has fallen open, and a small legion of angry draugr has stepped into view.

Avril would be willing to bet her last coin that the man has soiled his loins.

The thief's hand grips something on his hip and draws, as Avril guessed, a small iron dagger. Avril lets off a shot that slays a draugr on the upper level near the thief, and he watches with wide eyes as the corpse crumples to the ground. His eyes quickly find Avril just as she's cocking another arrow, and the sight of her preparing to fire seems to jolt him into action.

He turns and begins hacking away at a sword-wielding draugr while Avril picks off two more at the base of the chamber. She progresses further into the room, doing most of the killing compared to the thief as he continues to slash at only the second draugr that's approached him. When she nears the upper level of the chamber, however, a glimmer somewhere off to the left catches her eye. After sinking an arrow into the draugr rapidly storming toward her, she turns to see what the source was.

The light gleams off the enchanted greatsword that a hulking, heavily-armored draugr scourge wields as he charges down the stairs from the upper side chamber. Avril notices that the coffer it emerged from appears to be hollow, with a corridor on the other side.

The draugr completely ignores Avril at the far side of the chamber, its luminescent eyes locked on the fear-stricken thief. Avril quickly fires off a shot, but despite striking the corpse where its heart should be, the foe rages on. It takes a large, sweeping swing at the cowering thief and slashes across his unarmored chest, leaving behind a fatal gash. The thief slumps to the ground, and the draugr's lethal gaze focuses on Avril.

Avril curses and flees to the lower section of the chamber. The draugr trails behind her, grumbling in some ancient language and swinging his sword about. Avril stops and turns to face him, cocking an arrow and aiming directly for his skull, luck be damned.

 _"Always aim for the chest, Avril,"_ her father's voice echoes in her mind. _"Only the lucky and the stupid aim for the smaller target."_

The draugr stops and points his greatsword at her accusingly, spouting some ancient curses, and giving her a window. She sucks in a breath, sharpens her aim, then lets the arrow fly with a slow exhale... and prays.

~~\--------------------~~

Vilkas walks up the steps to the Skyforge, his mood particularly sour. Cutting through all of those damned draugr left his blade rather dull.

Eorlund looks up from his forge as Vilkas approaches, offering a warm smile. "Vilkas. How can I assist you?"

Vilkas puts his sword on the stone table by the forge. "Need my blade sharpened."

The old smith lifts a brow. "Again? I just sharpened it yesterday."

"Yeah, well," Vilkas sighs, "I had to carve through a lot of draugr in that damned cairn."

Eorlund shrugs. "Alright, then. Leave it there and I'll have it back to you in an hour."

"Thanks, old man," Vilkas sulks, turning to head back down.

"Vilkas," Eorlund says.

"Yeah?"

"Could I bother you for a favor? I have Aela's shield ready, and she's been dogging me for it. Would you mind taking it to her?" Eorlund points his hammer at a steel shield leaning against the stone worktable.

"Ah, she mentioned something earlier about needing to pick that up. Yeah, I'll take it to her. And I'll be back for my sword later."

"I'll see you then, my friend."

"Aye."

Vilkas heads down the stairs with Aela's shield in hand, scanning the patio as he rounds the corner for the auburn-haired huntress.

He spots her speaking with Skjor at the table. They seem to be having a rather heavy conversation, and Vilkas wonders if he should interrupt.

"....but now he's dead," Vilkas hears Skjor mutter as he comes within earshot.

Aela shoots Skjor a glare and looks up to greet the approaching Shield-Brother. "Vilkas," she says, her eyes lowering to the shield in his hands. "Ah, you have my shield."

Vilkas offers it to her and nods. "Eorlund asked me to deliver it. Did I hear you mention the new blood?" Vilkas turns his gaze to Skjor.

Skjor frowns and stands. "No," he says, casting a glare at Aela before looking back to Vilkas. "You didn't."

With that, Skjor turns and strides into Jorrvaskr. Vilkas lifts a brow at Aela, who merely sighs. "Skjor is angry because he confessed that he had planned on giving that whelp the blood, and I told him that was a very _stupid_ idea."

Vilkas crosses his arms and stares at Aela. "The blood? Why would he want to do that?"

"You saw the way that whelp was coming along. He was proving himself well."

"The man trapped himself in a room for a few potions, and got himself killed!" Vilkas snarls, knowing good and well it wasn't the whelp's fault but he has to blame someone, and blaming that damned Silver Hand only means he has to blame himself.

Aela narrows her eyes. "That wasn't his fault, Vilkas. You and I both know the Silver Hand need to be dealt with. It was our fault for not telling him about them. We couldn't have known they would be there."

Vilkas shakes his head, his mood darkening by the minute.

 _No, it was_ my _fault. Of course it was my fault. I knew something was off. I_ knew _it, but I left my guard down. I could have saved him. I_ should _have saved him._

_He's dead because of me._

"I need to get out of here," he mutters, turning from Aela and striding away from her concerned gaze. Despite his better logic, there is only one place he wants to be.

~~\--------------------~~

Avril steps into Driftshade, hauling the heavy sack along with her travel pack. At the bottom of the stairs in the foyer, her father greets her with open arms.

"My daughter returns at last," he beams, the proclamation earning a round of applause from the Silver Hand gathered in the room. All laughter and smiles and cheers of congratulations, but Avril's mood isn't as bright as one returning from their Proving should be.

Jon meets her halfway on the stairs and takes the sack from her, thick moisture dripping from within it and making deep red splatters on the floor. He dips his hand in the sack and pulls out a severed head, holding it up for all to see.

"She is Proven!" he announces with a proud grin, pumping a fist in the air. The room bursts into an even louder round of applause and cheers. Avril blushes slightly, unused to the attention, but something twists in her stomach when she gazes upon her trophy.

For when she sees the head of the hapless thief whose greed earned him his death, the shame of not being able to present Vilkas's head to her father threatens to drag her into a pit of despair.

Avril approaches her father and pulls the shard of Wuuthrad from her pack, offering it to him.

Garrett smiles broadly. "You bring us honor, my daughter."

Avril smiles weakly and nods, half-heartedly accepting his hug before excusing herself for a drink.

The night drags on, filled with laughter and music and lots of alcohol. Being of Proven age, Avril drinks to herself into a stupor to drown out the guilt of what she did. She can't even say she killed a minor wolf. That pathetic Nord didn't even know about the wolves in the Companions.

She excuses herself early, slipping away to sulk in her bedroom and put her travel gear away. They didn't even let her go and get cleaned up before they fired up the celebrations. Avril sits on her bed in her tunic and comfortable breeches and wraps her arms around herself, rubbing them for friction to keep warm in the cold, stone bedchamber.

"So how was your first kill, sis?" Jon asks, appearing in her doorway. He leans against the wall and smiles.

"I've killed people before, Jon," she says dismissively.

" _People_ , yes. Abominations? Not quite."

Avril shrugs. "It was just like killing anyone else, I suppose. With a worse smell."

Jon laughs. "Guess that means you got lucky enough to fight it in human form, then? Was it just the one?"

"Yeah, only one." Avril averts her eyes, busily examining her horribly neglected nails.

Jon lifts a brow and comes to sit on the bed beside her. "Everything alright, little sis?"

Avril shrugs. "I guess I'm just not in a celebratory mood."

Jon squeezes her shoulder and smiles. "Get some rest. You'll have time to bask in your glory in the morning, and every morning after that."

Avril offers a weak smile and rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I suppose."

Jon stands and leaves her alone with her thoughts, a dangerous thing in the mood she's in. She extinguishes her candles and crawls beneath the fur blankets, closing her eyes to sleep.

But something keeps her awake. Her restless mind draws her to something far off, nagging her until she gives up and throws the covers off, rolls out of bed, grabs her bow and travel pack, and stomps out the door.

~~\--------------------~~

The night air is cool and refreshing beneath the light of the two moons. Vilkas takes a deep breath, the chill washing through him like cold ale on a hot day. The forest is dark, but welcoming. Anyone else might find the dank woods foreboding, or even frightening, but Vilkas rarely feels quite so at peace when he is anywhere but here.

Though Whiterun is a large expanse of plains with sparse foliage, the meager woods begin to thicken the closer one gets to Riverwood. Falkreath lies to the south, shrouded in dense forest that Vilkas has been itching to explore, but not tonight. Tonight he wanders near the road to Riverwood in the light woodland area, simply enjoying the feel of being outdoors. He doesn't need thick, overwhelming forest to feel content tonight. He just needs air.

He can't help it when his mind lingers to the woman that got away from him. Her snarky grin and satin voice, how she held her bow with the confidence of a sabre cat, deadly even when vulnerable as he poisoned her with her own arrow.

The fact that she ran and purposefully woke the draugr in her wake must have been a sign that the poison worked on her and she couldn't risk being caught unconscious. A rather clever move, if Vilkas is being honest with himself. Which he's not.

The look of terror etched into the Nord's face when Vilkas laid his body on the pyre will haunt him forever. With much shame, Vilkas can't seem to recall the man's name. He had fiery red hair and called himself "the slayer." If Vilkas remembers correctly, he was from somewhere west. Whether he said Karthwasten or Rorikstead, Vilkas can't recall.

The twin moons shine brightly overhead, enveloping Vilkas in a sea of radiant light. Everything feels right when he's out here, beneath the moons. It's where he's meant to be, despite his divided feelings on the blood.

 

Avril mutters something under her breath as she treks through the forest on silent feet, her bow readied with an arrow. Whiterun Hold is rather bright tonight under the twin moons, and her prowler's grace makes it easy to hear the chirping and chattering of the nocturnal wildlife.

Avril stalks the forest for any sign that the wolf has been here. She knows it's incredibly stupid to hunt a werewolf at night in his territory, but she can't sleep and doing anything but is going to leave her restless and agitated. The trek to Whiterun Hold from her home at Driftshade didn't seem as long this time, now that she's made the journey three times.

Being the adept climber that she is, she probably doesn't find it as unusual as anyone else might when she decides to climb the nearest pine and lie in wait for her quarry.

 

Vilkas's skin crawls, being in the night air in the forest underneath the moons making his beast blood boil with the urge to shift. He wants to so badly, having refrained for so long that the feral beast within him is restless and itching for release. One good run, one good hunt, and he could survive this battle. He could endure.

_No, you can't. If you give in, you've already lost._

Vilkas curses under his breath. He hates when he's right.

 

Avril perks up, seeing movement in the underbrush. There, the moonlight shimmering off metal. She curls her toes and draws her bow, hooking her thumb beneath her lip and taking aim at the figure wading through the trees.

The wolf metal reflects the light of the twin moons, giving away the wolf's position. Avril is incredibly surprised to see him in human form. She expected to have to fend off a snarling beast, and hoped that it couldn't climb trees.

 _Barking up a tree,_ she mentally jokes.

The Companion stops in his tracks, and Avril already knows she's been caught. Knowing, as well, that she'll never be able to get a shot at him when he's expecting it, she resigns to try a different tactic. She works her way down the tree, hopping from branch to branch until she hits the ground silently on the balls of her feet.

"We really need to stop meeting like this," Vilkas says, crossing his arms over his chest.

"How in the hell did you smell me from there? I was in a _pine tree_!" Avril demands, narrowing her eyes.

Vilkas, much to both of their surprise, laughs. "I'm a werewolf. I think my nose works a bit better than your little Breton sniffer."

"You're unarmed," she comments, noticing his lack of a weapon.

Vilkas sneers. "And you're not. So what are you waiting for?"

His bluntness catches her off guard. "I know I can't shoot you," she says carefully, wondering where he's going with this.

"No, but I assume you were smart enough to bring something other than your bow." Vilkas nods to the dagger strapped to her hip and the sword sticking out of the pack on her back.

"Fair enough. But why are you-"

"I'm not," he interrupts her. "I guess I should have expected you would come back, I just didn't think it'd be tonight, and certainly not here."

"Expect the unexpected," she says, mimicking her father's words.

"You haven't attacked me yet, so I'm assuming you want something," he says coolly. His calmness is seriously throwing her off guard.

"I want you dead. I want your head on a pike so I can take home a trophy that's actually worth the effort of cleaving it from the shoulders."

" _Then what are you waiting for?_ " he sneers.

Avril discards her bow and grabs the sword from her back, taking on a ready stance before charging at Vilkas. He easily side-steps her attack, grabbing her and spinning her around so her back is pressed to him and her sword is held at her throat. His speed and agility, as she expected, are much quicker than her own and she knows she'll never be able to kill him head-on in human form. She's trained for it, but something about him is crushing her judgement. She grimaces.

"Come on! Do it, I _dare_ you!" she spits at him, jerking against his hold.

Vilkas tightens his grip on her. She really isn't the smartest thing, charging a wolf. Even with his mind mulled from his lack of shifting forms in a long time, he will always be faster than her. He can't exactly place what about her is making him act this way, so careless and dark. Before now, he would have reveled in the chance to sever that pretty little head from her shoulders. Now, with her in his arms and a blade at her throat, something holds him back.

Vilkas growls. "You must have a death wish. Too bad. I'm afraid there's something I want from you first."

"What!?" she demands.

"That damned shard you took from the tomb!"

Avril stares dumbly ahead of her a moment, feeling utterly stupid. _Of course he wants the shard._

"Over my dead body. You filthy mongrels don't deserve Wuuthrad!"

"And you murderers do?" he barks.

"Murderers! Cheap coming from a blood-thirsty dog!"

"I don't shift anymore!" he snaps, but he bites the words as soon as they're out.

Avril freezes. "What?"

Vilkas closes his eyes, frustrated that he'd blurt something like that out. "I don't shift anymore, damnit. I'm never shifting into that monster again."

Avril ponders this a moment, confused. Vilkas rips the sword from Avril's hand and tosses it away, pushing the Breton away from him.

Avril stumbles forward and spins around, preparing for an attack but finding Vilkas in a comfortable pose with his arms across his chest, staring her down.

She carefully says, "Why?"

Vilkas scowls. "Not all the Companions want to live like animals. The beast blood, it.. changes you. Not just physically. It seeps into your core, twists your soul. Hircine's grip is a curse."

Avril had never, ever expected to hear a Companion say that. Granted, she'd never expected to be speaking with one before, but that's beside the point.

"I.. I didn't know any of the Companions thought that."

"Several of us do," Vilkas says, still on his guard but settling into the conversation. _Conversation._ He's having a conversation with a Silver Hand. What is he doing? "The Companions were tricked into accepting the blood, and it's a curse that's been passed down, disguised as a blessing to enhance your abilities. Old habits die hard. The tradition has lived on, but Kodlak is going to change that." Vilkas hates himself for speaking so openly. He could cut out his tongue for speaking like this. He _should._

Avril stands there, stunned. "That's... not-"

"What you were told? That's not surprising. The way the Silver Hand seem to see it, we took the witches' curse with open arms. The witches offered us prowess, speed, the ability to protect ourselves and our families. And they gave what they promised. That much can't be denied. But they tricked us. They gave us a disease disguised as a blessing."

Avril shakes her head. "That doesn't change anything, though. It can't. The Companions still took the deal! You shamed Ysgramor with your greed." She spouts the teachings she's clung to her entire life, everything she knows. He has to be lying. Of course he's lying.

"Shamed Ysgramor!" Vilkas scoffs. "Wow, is _that_ what you lot tell yourselves? Is that why you steal the shards, call _us_ unworthy? Bah. Do you shame Mara when someone hurts you and you grow to hate them?"

Avril frowns. He makes a point.

Vilkas shakes his head and looks up at the sky, at the luminescent twin moons. Who would have thought he'd find himself here, educating a werewolf hunter on the plight of the werewolves. "Kodlak is looking for a cure."

Avril gapes. "A cure? To lycanthropy?"

"Aye. And I damn well hope he finds it."

"You want to cure yourself?" Avril says, stunned.

"Have you not been listening to a word I've said?" Vilkas scowls, looking over his shoulder at the city in the distance. "You don't have the shard, do you?"

Avril shakes her head, almost regretting that she cannot offer it to him. "Of course I don't."

Vilkas nods, frowning. "Of course you don't." Vilkas knows he'll regret this. "I wouldn't advise coming back here, but I'm sure you'll ignore me. So I suppose I will see you when next we meet."

With that, he leaves her alone in the forest, completely torn.

This can't be true? None of this could be true. This is all wrong. Wolves are monsters, beasts. Mindless, emotionless, feral. Vilkas is...

Vilkas is making her head spin.

"Damn it all," she swears to herself, gathering her bow and her sword and finding her way to the road. She can rest in Riverwood for the night before heading north.

In the warm bed in the Sleeping Giant Inn, sleep comes slowly for Avril. She tosses and turns, rolling over not just her body but her mind. If what he told her is true, if any of that is true... the Companions may not be the monsters she thinks they are. The monsters she has always been taught they are.

They may actually be people that, in any other life, she would be pleased to know. Especially Kodlak, could he truly be searching for a cure? What if he finds it? What if the Companions are no longer wolves?

What if Vilkas were no longer a wolf?

Avril shakes her head and frowns. Vilkas is a wolf. She is a wolf hunter. That is all she needs to know. The next time she meets him, none of this will matter. She _will_ kill him. She has to.

It's all she knows.


	3. Inside His Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an attempt to shine some light on Avril's family and lifestyle, I'm dedicating this chapter to the Silver Hand. Sorry, Vilkas!
> 
> It'll jump around from character to character, but I'll try to keep it pretty straightforward. This chapter won't have very long, in-depth scenes (some memories, short conversations, banter, ect.), I'm just trying to set the feel for the Silver Hand, because Skyrim never really told you anything about them.
> 
> WARNING: Gay handjob scene ahead. If this bothers you or you would prefer to avoid it, skip down to the next sceme. All you have to know is that Jon and Aaron are lovers. You can also skip to the dialogue at the end of the scene, it's pretty harmless (just forbidden lover fluff).
> 
> More Vilkas to come next chapter, don't worry!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you ever look up the Silver Hand (whether wiki or otherwise), usually it only tells you that they hate the Companions and the kinds of loot they carry, so if you're into lore canon, I've incorporated as much as I can from the wiki pages. Keep a look out for that! ;D

Jonathon stirs from his dreams with a cat-like stretch, yawning loudly. He shakes his head and rubs his eyes, kicking the fur blankets off and groaning. He definitely needs a comfier bed.

"Sleep well?"

Jon's eyes snap open and a wide smile spreads across his face at the sight of the tall, lean man standing in his doorway. "I woke better," he flirts.

Aaron grins and pushes off the wall, settling on the edge of the bed. He can't keep his eyes from admiring Jon's chiseled abdomen and the light spattering of black hair across his chest, which Jon runs his fingers over languidly. The hair narrows into a trail down his stomach, leading to a happy ending. Jon grins, following Aaron's gaze.

"Are you going to sit there and gawk or are you going to come here?" Jon teases.

Aaron blushes sheepishly, from toe to crown. Jon loves how the dirty-blond man seems to blush with his entire body, unlike little maidens who only grace their cheeks and sometimes the tips of their ears. Jon props himself up on one elbow, reaching out with his free arm to grip the back of Aaron's neck and draw him closer, crushing their lips together in a fierce embrace.

A low groan rumbles from Aaron's throat and he grabs Jon's hair, pulling downward roughly and drawing an array of moans from his dark-haired lover. The heat between them intensifies as both men, roused from the husky mood of waking early, become increasingly tense in the loins.

Jon slips an arm around Aaron's middle and pulls him down on top of him, drawing him desperately closer. The harsh entanglement of their lips, tongues, teeth have them clawing at each other with a very primal need that only they can satiate for each other.

Aaron boldly scrapes his nails down Jon's torso, leaving a red trail and pulling a hungry moan from deep in Jon's chest, until he reaches the waist of his breeches. He rips the fabric down, then the loins, and frees Jon's ever-hardening length. The throbbing member twitches with an urge to be touched, and Aaron is happy to oblige.

He curls his fingers around Jon's cock and slowly begins grinding, a tantalizing grade as Jon claws his nails down Aaron's back in a desperate plea for him to speed it up.

Being the more submissive of the pair, Aaron is very perceptive to Jon's desires and knows exactly what gets him the best. He presses his thumb against the slit at the very tip and begins hammering his lover's cock, earning a gasp of pleasure and the unbelievably arousing arching of Jon's back as he claws at the woolen fabric beneath him.

"Gods damn it, Aaron!" Jon groans as he nears his peak, soaking Aaron's hand with the tacky moisture of his arousal. Jon's body starts to turn red and the veins in his neck and temple begin throbbing as he urges his body to the limit, clawing toward that much-anticipated crest until-

"Gah!" he cries out, bursting from the strain and biting his lip so hard it nearly bleeds, the orgasm claiming him harshly and ripping through his body. Aaron fiercely assaults his cock, drawing out the climax to the very bitter end and milking as much juice as he can from him.

Jon takes a moment to catch his breath, then gives Aaron a knowing grin. "You must have done something horrible. That was one hell of a softening up."

Aaron smiles mischievously and lounges beside his lover, resting his head on Jon's bicep. "Can't I simply show my affections to the man I so adore?"

Jon laughs. "Oh, it must have been really bad." Stealing a tender moment, Jon turns Aaron's head to look at him and tangles a hand into his dirty blond hair. "But you can tell me later. Right now, I need much, much more softening to make up for all of that hardening." Jon grins and pulls Aaron into an intimate kiss, capturing his lips but going no further, savoring the taste. He drags his hand over Aaron's stubble-spattered cheek, then ventures lower until he hooks his arm around his waist and drags him closer, flushing their bodies together. Aaron cups Jon's face and kisses him as if the man were his only way to breath. He certainly seems to be his only reason to.

When they eventually, regretfully break the embrace, they put their foreheads together, both pairs of eyes closed, and share a moment of basking in each other's presence.

"I love you, Jon. You do know that, right?"

"Of course I know that. And you know I love you. I'll tell my father someday, I swear."

Aaron shows a ghost of a loveless smile. "You don't have to. He doesn't have to know. We both know how he'll react."

At that, Jon pulls back enough to stare firmly into Aaron's eyes. "I am not ashamed of you, Aaron. I know what you're thinking, and it's not true. I love you more than anything, more than this whole blighted place. It's not what my father thinks of me that worries me. It's what he may do to you."

Aaron frowns and closes his eyes. "You don't have to worry about me, love. If it's my safety against your father knowing who his son is-"

"Don't talk as if you mean nothing, Aaron. I'm serious. Damn my father. We'll get away from here one day, I swear it. It'll be just the two of us, like you've always wanted."

"What about your sister?" Aaron asks, knowing good and well that Jon cares for his sister above all others.

"My sister will settle down someday with a man that can handle her, if such a man even exists. If not, she will take over as High Chief. And we'll be long gone."

Aaron grimaces, averting his eyes. "You wouldn't give up your inheritance for me, Jon. I would kill you first."

"Then I suppose you'll have to kill me." Jon smiles and joins their lips once more, pouring every ounce of love he feels for this man into that one embrace. He will make him see it, one day. He will make him see it, or die trying.

~~ \-------------------- ~~

Garrett runs his hand through his hair for the hundredth time, giving an exhausted sigh. So much to do, never enough time. The plans are sprawled before him, plain as day, and yet he cannot find the direction he's searching for.

The Companions of Jorrvaskr are a blight upon Skyrim, upon all of Tamriel, even all of Nirn. They are a blight, and they must be eliminated.

But how?

The reports Garrett has received grow increasingly unnerving. Kodlak is getting close to stumbling upon the location of the Glenmoril witch coven. He's been scouring the lands for it, and he's getting so treacherously close.

Garrett cannot predict what would happen if the witches were found, and the cure to lycanthropy unlocked. What he knows for sure is that it would bring about the one thing he fears above anything else, and he cannot allow that to happen.

Seeing his beloved daughter Proven has lifted a great weight from his heart, but also borne a new burden upon his shoulders. She's of age now for official operations, like her brother. Jonathon is an exceptionally skilled warrior, a nightmare on the battlefield to all who oppose him. Avril has chosen a different way of fighting, lurking in the shadows and sending doom upon her foes from afar.

Just like her mother.

Elisa was the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid his eyes upon, but her ways confounded him. And of course, she would pass them down to their daughter. Garrett knew he was lucky when that tall, scrawny son of his who he feared would take on the nimble traits of his mother grew into a rather impressive warrior, thick and strong and everything Garrett ever wanted. Luck never strikes twice, however, and the lean, stealthy girl Elisa raised took to her shadowy ways like a moth to flame. He had hoped denying her a bow for so long in her training would deter her from wanting to master it, but of course, you cannot tear a girl from her destiny. She was born for that bow.

When Elisa had such trouble with her first pregnancy, Garrett knew he would never get another child from her. He had the son he wanted, he was content to enjoy raising his boy. But, as fate would have it, ten years later she grew heavy with child. The pregnancy nearly killed her, as did the birth, but by some miracle, she survived.

Avril was thirteen when her mother passed on.

Ever since Avril's birth, Elisa grew more and more ill with each passing year. She knew that the illness would soon overtake her, so she spent as many years as she could passing down as much wisdom and training as she could to her beautiful daughter. In the last three years of her life, Elisa saw the prodigies her children had become and beamed with pride on her deathbed when she kissed her lovely girl and her daring son goodbye.

Garrett grips a hand over his stomach, the memory of his beloved wife leaving him physically crippled. The pain of losing her was unbearable, but he kept true to his vow. He never, ever grew bitter toward his children for his wife growing ill. That is the one thing he swore he would never do, despite how depressed and lost he became. It was no one's fault. Elisa got what she wanted from life, and she left the world with an unburdened heart.

Garrett turns from the desk and glances over the bookshelf nearby, searching until his eyes fall upon a small journal bound in red leather.

Flipping open to the marked page, he silently reads the poem that he's read a thousand times before.

_Morndas came, and she was away._

_Tirdas came, and she arrived with the day._

_Middas came, and her heart was alight._

_Turdas came, and she escaped in the night._

_Fredas came, and she thought it was love._

_Loredas came, and she knew there was none._

_Sundas came, and her heart was astray._

_Morndas came, and she was away._

Garrett hugs the book to his chest, the last testament that Elisa bequeathed to parchment before her passing. He is in no way a bardic man, but somehow, the words of his wife's last poem touch his soul in a way that wrenches a knife deep within him. Her death was no one's fault. She died happy. She died free.

She died.

~~ \-------------------- ~~

Avril peruses the Driftshade library, looking for something in particular. There was a tome she picked up once, thinking it was something else, and she put it back somewhere right around-

"Aha!" She holds up the leather-bound volume and sweeps the dust from the spine until she can read the engraved title.

_A History of the Silver Hand._

Avril grins triumphantly and totes the heavy text back to her bedchamber, determined to find some answers.

She plops herself on the bed after shutting the door behind her and flips the tome open to the first page.

Three hours later, she's still found nothing.

Nothing useful, nothing abnormal, nothing out of the ordinary. Except that it's the exact opposite of everything Vilkas told her.

Every piece of history and lore that the Silver Hand possesses clearly states that the Companions _knowingly_ accepted the boon from the witches and took the curse upon themselves, offering their souls to Hircine. There is no room for doubt. The texts all blatantly demand that the Companions are in the wrong, that they're cruel and vicious and a mockery of Ysgramor's legacy.

But something seems so off about it all.

When Avril spoke with Vilkas, he seemed almost... sympathetic to the Silver Hand, if only for the fact that he believes them so misinformed and acting without full understanding of their actions. These texts on the Silver Hand's history has no allowance for any such sympathy toward the wolves. It states one thing and one thing only: the Silver Hand have the right of it, and the Companions are just stupid dogs.

It forces Avril to wonder if perhaps the histories are not as straightforward as they seem.

Avril shakes her head and sighs, dumping the book on her desk. "This is getting me nowhere," she mutters.

She runs her fingers over a stack of books on the edge of the desk. She has always had a hobby of collecting the _Songs of the Return_ volumes. They're incredibly difficult to find. She only has five, and there are at least sixty in the set. All tell of Ysgramor, of his glory and victories and how he lived.

_"Shame Ysgramor? Is that what you lot tell yourselves?"_

Avril frowns, remembering Vilkas's words. What if he told the truth? What if the Companions are going to cure themselves?

What if everything she knows is wrong?

Avril wonders what her father would say to that. Of course he'd deny it. Garrett sees the Companions like any reasonable Silver Hand does: a blight. He would say the dog was lying, shun her for even daring to cavort with a filthy mongrel instead of putting it down when she had the chance, and quite possibly disown her.

 _What a loving father,_ she thinks bitterly.

"Sister?"

Avril turns to face the door. "Come in, Jon."

Jon steps into the room, looking rather nervous. "Hey, can we, um.. talk?"

Avril lifts a brow suspiciously. "What did you do?"

Jon grins slightly, still looking like he might bolt. Avril gives him a curious glare. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong. I, ah.. just wanted to invite you for a drink. Since you're all Proven and glorious now."

Avril rolls her eyes, sensing something more beneath the surface but content to play along. "Sure, O Wise One."

They walk to the dining hall of the fort, which doubles for a tavern, and sit at the bar stools. Jon flags down Lane, the bartender, and orders two tankards of mead.

Avril perks up at the chance to eavesdrop on the gossip in the room. Brenna, a pretty fair-haired woman with a mouth the size of a mudcrab, chatters away venomously about someone accusing her of sleeping with their husband. That's no surprise. Avril pays little mind to the woman's antics. Odds are, the accusation was perfectly valid.

Orvar, the blacksmith that trained Jon, slams a tankard on his table at the far side of the room and lets out a bellowing laugh at something Edgar the apothecary said. The old herbalist grins wryly and enjoys the fruits of his cleverness.

"Hey, Alden," Avril says, eyeing someone sitting at a table relatively near the bar. The room seems to quiet a bit, as it usually does when Avril's voice rings through the hall. She had been observing a heated arm-wrestling match between the warrior and a scrawny hunter, and of course, he won every time. "Bet you twenty gold you can't table me."

Alden flashes a cocky grin, ripe with the high of several victories. "I would hate to take your gold, m'lady."

Avril's lips curl into a smile. "Fifty."

Alden shrugs and gestures to the chair across the table. "Feisty thing, aren't you? Alright, I've no shame in taking a lady's coin."

Avril hops off the bar stool and sits in the chair with a leg crossed over the other, her back straight, and her shoulders squared, mocking a proper lady's posture. "Lady indeed," she smirks, putting her elbow to the table and popping her knuckles with her thumb.

The thickly-muscled warrior slaps his hand into hers and attempts to intimidate her with a strong grip, but Avril is stronger than she looks and meets it firmly, flexing her hand. Alden smirks. "Impressive, m'lady."

"Let's hear you say that when I have you licking your wounded pride," Avril says, initiating the match with a sudden jerk of her arm, catching him off guard and gaining a few inches right off the bat.

"Cheap shot," he quips, gaining the advantage back easily and pushing Avril down almost halfway to the table. She strains her arm, the veins throbbing beneath her tan skin, but years of training with a bow have made her arms the strongest part of her body and she grits her teeth, putting all of her weight and strength into one final grind.

The look on the man's face when his knuckles hit the table is the greatest thing she's seen in days.

She holds out her hand, smiling and batting her lashes so innocently that it's almost believable. "I do believe the bet was _fifty_ , right? Cough it up."

The fighter scowls and pulls a medium-sized purse from his belt, looking utterly miserable. It's delicious.

Avril grins triumphantly and hooks the purse to her belt, patting the man's shoulder before swaying her plump hips all the way back to the bar stool, where her brother lets out a laugh.

"You're so mean."

She takes the tankard and touches it to her lips, leaning her head back to down the entire thing in one chug.

"Part of my charm, big brother," she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Jon smirks. "Some lady."

Avril graciously accepts a refill, then holds out her tankard to Jon. "Lady indeed," she smiles.

Jon knocks his tankard to hers and they both throw their heads back and drink down the toast with a loud gulp.


	4. To Forget a Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avril must face a ghost of her past when he appears on the Driftshade doorstep, beaten and bloodied almost beyond recognition. When she sneaks out to search for Vilkas again, he proves to be an unlikely source of comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you like my double forbidden love affair? ;D Aren't Jon and Aaron cute? I know, I know, you're here for Vilkas. Patience, grasshopper.

Vilkas laid awake the night he spoke with Avril in the woods. He felt so stupid for letting her go again, he could have killed her with her own sword! But something stopped him, something about her. Even he can't tell himself it was because of the shard. The world's greatest liar couldn't convince him of that.

He dares not tell Aela of his encounter. She wouldn't be able to keep something like that to herself, especially not from Skjor. Vilkas can just imagine the words he'd be getting if it got out that he's been speaking to a Silver Hand.

Not to mention how they would react if they saw him sneak out in the dead of night to meet her in the woods.

Avril discreetly sent him a letter devising a rendezvous in the place they last spoke. She must have paid the courier extra to ensure he wouldn't reveal the sender's identity or where the letter was sent from. Vilkas received the letter just two hours earlier.

The midnight sky is alight with the blue and purple aurora. Vilkas recalls stumbling across a well-dressed Imperial couple from Cyrodiil on the road, just staring up at the sky. They said they came all the way from the Imperial City just to see Skyrim's Northern Lights.

Perhaps it's the fact that he has lived here his entire life, or maybe he just isn't appreciative of astronomical light shows, but the aurora never impressed Vilkas very much. It's just color in the sky. The moon is the only thing in the night sky that truly fascinates him.

The forest is dank tonight, the air humid and thick and the foliage damp from an earlier storm. Vilkas trudges through the slick underbrush, groaning with irritation.

"Not a fan of the rain, pup?" Avril purrs from her perch halfway up a pine tree. For once, Vilkas didn't catch her scent before he spotted her.

"Not a fan of wet forests. Is there somewhere else we can go? I'd suffer the trip to Falkreath to get out of this," he complains, kicking mud from his boot.

Avril shrugs, hopping down from the branch. "Your choice, I suppose. I'm supposedly on a hunting trip, so I have plenty of time." Avril quirks a brow at him, jabbing a finger behind her. "You do realize we're walking distance from the Sleeping Giant, though, right?"

"They know me at the Sleeping Giant, and I can't be seen with-"

"With what, Vilkas?" Avril frowns, narrowing her eyes. "A filthy dog hunter?"

Vilkas furrows his brow. "Don't give me that, you wouldn't be seen with me anywhere near your little hideout."

"Who says I wouldn't?" she quips.

"You wouldn't."

 Avril shrugs. "Fair enough."

So they make their trek to Falkreath, at least an hour by foot, in travel-light conversation. Talking about the moon, the sky, the aurora and Vilkas's encounter with that Imperial couple. Avril tells him of her brother, how she feels like he's hiding something from her lately but she can't really call the kettle black. Vilkas actually agrees with her on that front.

"I think my brother, Farkas, is hiding something, too; but for the life of me, I can't imagine what it is. There isn't much he can keep from me. I wonder if perhaps one of the newer women in the hall has caught his eye. Ria and Njada. I would guess Njada if Skjor didn't seem like he's already pissed on her."

Avril can't contain her sudden snort. Vilkas smirks slightly.

"Yes, yes, dog jokes. I'm sure you Silver Hand have lots of fun with those," he says, lifting a brow as he gives her a sidelong glance. Something about the way she walks, taking long, agile strides as if she's prepared for anything... it makes something within him flutter. Her dark hair shines under the moonlight, glimmering in a way that he's only ever seen on Aela's beast form."

"Yes, plenty. We make a hobby out of it, really. What's more is we actually use them on ourselves often, too. But calling someone a dog in my family is like, the insult of all insults."

Vilkas chuckles. "I would say so. In the Companions, it's more like a term of endearment."

"I would say so," she smiles.

Being here alone with her, he can really get a sense of who she is. Maybe the Silver Hand aren't all bad. Her brother, Jon, sounds like a decent man, actually. Her father, not so much.

"Are you ever going to tell me who your father is? Every time I bring him up, you flinch and change the subject," Vilkas observes, knitting his brows. It frustrates him, though he has no right for it. He won't tell her about his father, either.

"There's nothing to tell, Vilkas," she says, sending a shiver down his back at the gentle way she breathes his name. Those lips caressing the meager thing that is his name. He curses himself for these thoughts.

 _Don't you dare,_ he warns himself inwardly.

"Would you accept a bargain?" he offers.

She quirks a brow at him. "What, your father for my father?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Why?" he frowns.

"Because I'm sure one of them won't compare to the other, and I'd rather it not be mine."

That licks up his curiosity. "Oh, now you have to tell me."

The corners of her mouth turn down irritably. "No, actually, I don't."

Like that, the conversation halts and the two walk in sulking silence, each wondering about the secrets of the other and neither prepared to press for answers.

They reach the edge of Falkreath, passing through the gate with a nod to the guards, and head into the Dead Man's Drink. The bar is quiet, as usual, with a soft rumble of chatter in the background. Being in the later hours of the night, hunters have gathered to share drinks and tell of their hunts. A blonde bard strums a lute in the corner, with a young dark-haired girl sitting nearby and watching him pleasantly. She whispers often to him and he replies, all silent beneath the notes of his instrument. Vilkas frowns.

_Ridiculous._

Vilkas has never been in love. That's not to say he's never rutted a woman before, but he's never quite made love. He's never had sex with a woman out of deeper passion. Superficial flings is all he's ever experienced, and all he sees in his near and distant future. No woman has ever been impressive enough to win his affections; and, to Vilkas's slight disappointment, it seems as though none ever will.

Avril tosses a few coins to the bar-keep and strolls over to a table with two tankards in hand. She takes a seat at the table, placing the second tankard next to her as an indication for Vilkas to join her. He complies, grabbing the metal container and taking a deep gulp of the mead to sooth the slight burn in his throat from the hike down from Whiterun. The liquid refreshes the soft tissue of his sore throat, only to leave a burning after-taste that spreads an intoxicating warmth through him and fuzzes the corners of his mind.

"So, I assume you dragged me all the way out here to ask questions, aye?" Vilkas says, taking a smaller drink of his mead this time. "I hope you're not going to stub up on me again just because I brought up your father. I'd hate to have wasted the trip."

Avril grimaces and sips her mead slowly, savoring the taste. When she runs her tongue over her lower lip, followed by a slight graze of her teeth, Vilkas has to stifle a slight growl. She doesn't seem to notice. "Well, let's start from the beginning. The witches."

Vilkas nearly groans. "We've been over this."

"Humor me."

Vilkas rolls his eyes, taking another drink, his tankard nearly empty. "I'm ashamed to say I don't even know which Harbinger it was that made the bargain. Strength, speed, agility. The witches kept their end of the deal, but they left out the fact that the beast blood is like a plague. It spreads into the depths of your spirit, twists you into one of Hircine's creatures. You don't just turn into a beast, you become the beast. Eventually, it can drive you mad if you go too long without shifting."

"Yet here you are," she states, almost as a question.

Vilkas nods. "Those of us supporting Kodlak's search for a cure have jointly agreed to refrain from shifting, to suppress the blood. It helps somewhat, gives you a clearer mind and makes you a bit less temperamental. But it also comes with some pretty unpleasant side-effects."

"Which are?"

Vilkas lifts a brow, surprised by her thorough curiosity. "It's difficult to explain. The blood gives you the mind of a predator. You think as if you are on a hunt, every moment of every day. You're practically a snarling dog, even when you're not in the form. If someone angers you, it turns into white-hot rage within seconds. Everything is intensified, fueled by fury."

_"Everything?"_

The implication isn't lost on him. "Yes, everything." He continues, "So, by not giving in to the blood, you suppress some of the emotional instability. When you anger, it's containable. You start thinking less like a predator, get back some of your humanity. But you're also very irritable. You may have a handle on your anger, but it's like water on a stove. Eventually, it could hit the boiling point, and you can't be sure when that will be."

Vilkas doesn't miss the way Avril seems to lean toward him, enraptured by his regalement. She must not know much about wolves beyond how to kill them. It takes all of his willpower not to lean into her, nuzzle his nose against her neck to breath in the intoxicating smell. Pine trees. Lavender. What is that other one?

"Vilkas?"

He snaps out of his thoughts, lifting a brow. "What is that-Ah. Vampire dust."

"What?"

"You have vampire dust on you. I can't tell if it's on your clothes or if you have it stashed somewhere, but I smell it. Huh. So the rumor was true."

"What rumor?" she asks, putting a hand on a pocket in her leather pants, most likely where the vampire dust is stashed.

"That the Silver Hand always keep one of four things on them: vampire dust, hawk feathers, mudcrab chitins, or charred skeever hide. They all share the ability to cure diseases."

Avril lifts a brow, shocked. "How could you possibly-"

"You're not the only one who knows things about your rival. We know quite a bit about all of you. And I find it so hilarious, because lycanthropy is not a _disease_ , like vampirism. You can't catch it. You have to drink willingly offered beast blood from a moon fountain." Vilkas leans back on the bench, his mead finished off and a lazy smirk on his face.

"What's a moon fountain? And what do you mean, _willingly offered?"_ Avril says curiously, reaching into her pocket to get more coin for another drink. Vilkas puts a hand on her wrist to stop her, pushing his tankard away, and his fingers linger a moment longer than necessary on her tanned skin. He flushes a bit beneath the dirt and grime on his face. Avril may not notice his cheeks, but she definitely sees his ears turn pink. She grins slightly.

"A moon fountain is.. well, I don't know how to describe it. It's a fountain carved from stone that's been purified in moonlight. It's an old, ritualistic artifact. We have one that's been there longer than any of us know. You can only become a wolf by drinking beast blood from a moon fountain. And what I mean by willingly offered is, you must have what we call a forebear, another lycan who offers their blood for you to drink from in the fountain. It has to be blood offered willingly, so someone doesn't abuse the fountain and kill a wolf to use their blood," Vilkas explains carefully, not used to having to educate someone on these things. He's used to being the student.

"That's.. kind of genius. Huh. Wonder who came up with that," Avril says, giving a slight shrug. Vilkas notices how her cheeks are slightly flushed, and he wonders if the mead is catching up to her. Her tankard has been empty for some time now.

"I, um, should be getting back," Vilkas says after a moment.

Avril nods and stands, Vilkas following suit. She turns and walks to the bar to pay for a room for the night, then looks back to him.

"Well, thank you for answering my questions. Well, some of them."

Vilkas grins, feeling like seeing her blush. "There is one side effect of halting your shifts that I forgot to mention." She tilts her head. He boldly winks at her and says, "You feel like you could fuck for a week straight and never stop for a breath. The sex drive is insane."

With that, he leaves her flustered little self to take in the implication of that brazen statement and heads out of the inn into the cool night air.

 _That may have been a bit much,_ he admits to himself, _but it was funny._

~~ \------------------- ~~

Later in the evening, Avril sits by the fire in the dining hall of Driftshade, watching as Ornjolf (an elderly Breton with a fondness of cooking, now that his fighting days are over) prepares the meat of the massive elk she dragged home as a trophy of her successful hunting trip. She sits on the stone floor, her eyes following his hands as they stir a broth that will be the base for a delicious elk stew.

As always, Ornjolf set aside an impressive steak from the rich venison for Avril as a reward for hunting the beast. He does this for all of the hunters. His stew may be a delicious prize, but his steaks are a god-sent delicacy.

_"Silver Hand! Foyer! Now!"_

Ornjolf and Avril glance at each other uncertainly at the thundering sound of Garrett's voice. Avril jumps up and heads out of the dining hall, leaving Ornjolf to his cooking that he wouldn't abandon in the walls were caving in, and makes her way to the foyer.

A crowd has gathered (Garrett's voice has that effect on people) and Avril files her way through the people, weaving in and around the sea of bodies until she finally breaks through, stumbling forward a bit.

_No. No, no, no, no._

Garrett kneels beside a man, helping him to his feet, his rough-spun tunic and tattered pants covered thickly in mud and gore. When the dark-haired, bearded man looks up and glances around the room, his eyes immediately fall on hers, and Avril can see the ghost of that menacing smile of his.

 _"Uncle,"_ she chokes out, holding back her grimace and doing her best to look genuinely concerned. "What has happened? Where have you been?"

 _"Hell,"_ he growls, spitting on the ground. A tooth clatters on the stone, along with a splatter of blood. He wipes his mouth on the shoulder of his tunic. "The Thalmor. They captured me on a hunting patrol, gods. How long has it been?"

 _Not long enough._ "Months, at least. Maybe closing on a year," Avril says, glancing between her father and his brother.

"Bah," he groans. "Garrett, didn't you teach that child of yours any manners? I need help to my chambers, if you haven't given them to someone else."

Garrett gives a soft, sad smile. "Of course I haven't, Gaven." He waves for Avril to come closer and relieve his position. She hesitantly steps closer and lets her hulking uncle wrap an arm around her shoulders and lean on her for support. She feels as though she may vomit.

"Come on, Uncle," she says gently, trying to keep her voice steady, and she leads him through a side corridor and begins the walk to his chambers in one of the farther wings of the fort, too near to her bedroom and too far from her father's.

"Mm, I missed your tiny little body pressed against me, Avril," he whispers huskily, his breath wreaking of raw animal innards and the stench of unclean teeth.

"I liked you better when I thought you were dead," she snaps, digging her nails into his tender rib-cage. He winces, still smirking.

"You always were a feisty one," he says.

"Feistier than my mother."

This shuts him up. He frowns deeply and looks away from her, staring straight ahead at the door at the end of the hall. It always strikes just the wrong chord with her dear uncle when she brings up her mother.

When they enter the room, a chill gust of air greets them. The abandoned room has been left mostly untouched since Gaven disappearance, which means there is no heat at all. Avril helps him to the bed and turns toward the fireplace, kneeling before it to stoke some heat into the firewood still left there. They are dry, surprisingly. They light easily with some friction.

The warmth fills the room quickly, heating the stone and making it seem warmer than it really it. Avril glances around the unkempt room with a frown. "You have a lot of work to do," she says.

"I suppose I do," he agrees.

"I'll leave you to rest, then, Uncle." As quickly as she can, she departs the room and scurries down the hall to her bedchamber, slamming the door behind her and locking it. She lets out a deep breath she didn't realize she'd been holding and sinks to the floor, her head in her hands.

_I thought you were dead. You were supposed to be dead!_

An image of Vilkas slips beneath her barriers and she takes comfort in the thought of his easy smirk, a feat it seems very few can accomplish, and the way his eyes watch her every movement to assess everything she's about to do before she even thinks of doing it. She thinks of his wolf armor, how it shimmers and catches every light, how she can see herself in the broad chest, how she tried to strike him with her bow and smacked the metal shoulder pauldron. She thinks of him and her heart flutters, her face flushing from her chin to her ears.

She bites her lip and hugs her knees, resting her forehead on her arms. "I'll be damned if I let myself fall for a dog," she grumbles, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to steady herself.

"And I will be damned if I ever let my uncle hurt me again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, wow, took me a while to spit this chapter out. Sorry it couldn't be longer, I've been busy and sleep-deprived. It might be a few days before I get the next chapter written and posted but please bear with me. I will not let this go unfinished, I promise.


	5. Where Have You Been?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ( I was going to show another scene with Avril and Vilkas at the end of the last chapter but it felt like it was getting too long so I saved it for this one. Enjoy! )
> 
> Vilkas is getting good at reading Avril, and he knows something is wrong when she is late for their usual rendezvous and shows up distraught and sour. Reluctantly, she reveals the truth of her past with her uncle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have three fics going now, wow. I'm wanting to get some side works posted for this series (so it's not a single-handed series, like I have a tendency to do) but ugh, I'm so busy and I'm barely spitting out my three chapters at a time. Hope you're enjoying so far, I know it feels like I'm kinda speeding through, but it'll even out, I promise!
> 
> Feedback keeps me going and makes me update faster (it really does) so keep me posted, loves! The kudos warm my heart! ♥

Vilkas taps his foot impatiently. He and his Breton counterpart had fallen into a comfortable pattern, meeting once every three days, and he found himself looking forward to their rendezvous. It was becoming less about innate questioning and more companionable conversation. He asked about her operations (which, much to his surprise, was very little about anything related to the Companions) and she asked about his jobs. She found it so interesting, his life as a mercenary. He couldn't fathom why.

Vilkas twitches at the sound of someone crunching through the underbrush of the Pine Forest. He turns to greet Avril as she appears amidst the trees, but her face set in a deep frown keeps him quiet.

He makes out the lines of stress etched into her brow, the creases of hours spent in agonizing thought, and the slight hollow of her cheeks, indicating she's not been eating as healthily as usual.

"What's wrong?" he demands automatically, brows furrowed.

She shakes her head, waving a dismissive hand. "Family trouble. Let me worry about that. Shall we?"

They make their way toward Falkreath, heading to the Dead Man's Drink as usual, but the air around them is heavy with tension. He aches to push her for answers, to comfort her, but he feels her closing him out as if she'd slammed a door in his face.

When the stone wall of Falkreath's gate comes into view, Vilkas detours Avril with a hand on her lower back and guides her to the wall, turning her so her back is against it.

He crosses his arms and stares at her intensely. She doesn't flinch.

"Tell me," he says simply, his eyes dark.

She frowns. "I already told you-"

"I don't care if it's family or not, Avril, you can tell me. You look too thin. Have you been eating?"

Avril scowls at him and crosses her own arms in defiance. "Too thin? That's how you plan on making me confide? Insulting me?"

Vilkas glowers at her. "I'm not insulting you. At least, not intentionally. Now tell me."

She rolls her eyes, but there's a double-layered emotion hidden behind them. It takes her a moment's hesitation to concede.

"My uncle has returned."

Vilkas lifts a brow. "Uncle? Shouldn't that be a good thing?"

She narrows her eyes and gestures to her unkempt, stress-worn self. "Does it look like a good thing? I've barely slept. I can't sleep knowing he's right down the hall."

"Why is that?" Vilkas presses, but he feels he already knows the answer. It isn't hard to guess.

"Because the memory of him sneaking into my bedroom at night isn't an easy thing to shake off, Vilkas. He's been missing for almost a year. Just vanished into thin air. Then suddenly, there he is, beaten to the brink of death. I can't tell my father about it. I can't tell my brother. They wouldn't believe me, for one, and for two...," she closes her eyes and takes a breath, looking defeated, "gods be damned, Gaven would kill me."

This sets Vilkas's nerves on edge. He can't tell when exactly he started feeling this need to protect her, but the thought of some man taking advantage of Avril and leaving her helpless in her own home, too fearful to sleep and too stressed to eat... he growls.

"What are you going to do?" he says, his eyes alight with rage.

Avril shrugs, her blatant vulnerability completely out of character. "Not much I can do, except hope he goes missing again. He hasn't made any advances. Perhaps he's not going to."

"But you don't believe that."

"Of course I don't."

~~ \-------------------- ~~

Vilkas spends the next day worrying ceaselessly. What has this woman done to him? She's not unattractive. She's quite stunning, if he is honest with himself. But the hold she has on him isn't physical. Her spirit, her fire, her personality. Every little detail of her stubborn, quirky, infuriating self has him chasing his own tail.

The beast blood is crawling with his need to protect her. He knows she's at home, probably cowering in her room to avoid Gaven.

 _A home is no place to hide,_ he growls to himself.

Just then, Ria comes blustering through. He is on the patio, and Ria looks rather anxious.

It's then at he smells it.

"Gods be damned, you're kidding me," he snarls, glaring at her sharply. She shrinks away from him, stunned.

"What are you talking about?" she asks nervously.

Vilkas turns and storms into Jorrvaskr, his dark eyes scanning the room quickly, but he's relying on his nose to find his Shield-Sister before he sees her.

There, in the corner of the room sitting on a bench, a piece of bread in her hand, is Aela. He narrows his eyes at her.

_"Aela!"_

She jumps and looks up at him, standing and crossing the room with a full crowd of eyes watching her movements. She glowers at him.

"Must we do this here?"

He turns and exits the hall, Aela sighing and following behind him.

They enter the Underforge and he faces her, towering over her lithe form, a force to be reckoned with.

"Ria," he says, hardly a question but still demanding of an answer.

Aela nods, as though she expected this. "We turned her days ago. I'm surprised you didn't notice before now. But, then again, you've been off in your own little world for weeks now."

Vilkas frowns. "Who is _we?"_

"Farkas," she admits.

_"What?"_

"She's being sent to retrieve the heads of the Glenmoril witches."

That stops him for a moment. He processes it slowly, wrapping his head around the implication.

"She's going to get the cure?" _I have to tell Avril._

"Kodlak finally found their coven. His theory is that if we take them to Ysgramor's tomb and destroy them in the Harbinger's Flame, it'll release the wolf spirit and cure us. But we all have to do it individually, so Njada is going with her so they can get all of the heads. There should be five or six witches."

"We're almost free," Vilkas breathes, looking at Aela intensely.

"We're almost free," she agrees, smiling.

He seems to be reminded of something, and suddenly his face sobers. "How goes the war with the Silver Hand?"

Aela frowns. "Trying, as always. I fear they know about the Glenmoril witches, and may have resistance waiting for Njada and Ria. That's why we gave Ria the blood. She needs to be able to face the Silver Hand, and she has the potential to join the Circle. Njada, on the other hand..."

Vilkas smirks slightly. "You only dislike Njada because you know she's rutting Skjor."

Aela glares at him. "He can screw who he wants. I'm not his keeper."

Vilkas shrugs and walks past her, seeking solace in is thoughts. He's almost free.

_We're almost free..._

His thoughts can't keep from drifting toward Avril, wondering what it'll be like when he's no longer a wolf, when they're no longer sworn enemies.

Are they enemies now? Is that what they are?

You don't befriend your enemy. You don't meet with your enemy and talk for countless nights about everything and nothing. You don't look forward to meeting your enemy, at least not in a friendly way.

You don't fall in love with your enemy.

The thought tastes sour, but he can't help but admit it. Something is igniting between them, slowly and softly, barely there but ever-present. He can't keep it from himself. He can't deny it.

_We're almost free._

~~ \-------------------- ~~

Avril stares at her father, rather dumbstruck.

"We're _what?"_

"We're almost free," he says, grinning wickedly. "The Companions have sent people to retrieve the Glenmoril witch heads. I have dispatched warriors to meet them there and take them down."

Avril tries to twitch her lips up into a smile, but the effort is wasted. "D-do you know who the Companions that they sent are?"

Garrett lifts a brow at his daughter. "Why do you care?"

She shrugs. "Mm, just curious."

Garrett looks at her warily, but says, "Njada and Ria, the younger ones. We have reason to suspect that one of them has been turned into a wolf. I doubt that they are being sent alone, however. I'm sure one of the Circle members will be with them."

_Vilkas._

He never mentioned going to the witch coven, but he may not have known he would be until he returned to Jorrvaskr. Avril bites down the sour flavor of heart-struck worry. It could be any member of the Circle. Of course it could. It doesn't have to be Vilkas.

It couldn't be Vilkas.

Could it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the short chapter, I'm having the most awful time with this story. I don't if it's writer's block or what, but this isn't my best writing. I'm floundering here.
> 
> Seriously, I need feedback. I'm losing my direction on this one. Not sure where I want to go.


	6. Kill Me Softly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avril tries to intercept the Companions on their way to the Glenmoril coven, but she's too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The feedback is really helping me get through the block up, I hope you all know how much I appreciate each of you! This is the longest fic I've done so far, and I'm so eager to finish it for you. But don't fret, I'm not done with these two yet ;)
> 
> Also: sorry if you've been missing Jon and Aaron, I'll give them some love this chapter! Admittedly, I'd almost forgot about them. I'm telling you, writer's block is unbecoming on me.

Avril didn't have time to answer her brother's questioning gaze as she stormed out of the fort in the dead of night. She kicks herself for it now, knowing that she'll have to deal with him later.

She got the location of the coven from her father's plans sprawled on his desk and set out immediately without his knowing, or at least she hopes as much. She trudges through the snow, heading variably south. As soon as the snow gives way to the plains of Whiterun, she'll start worrying about the direction she's going beyond just south.

"I can't let them die," she swears to herself, closing her eyes and just imagining the hurt that Vilkas would feel if his Shield-Sisters fell to the Silver Hand. It feels like a knife through the chest.

"I won't let them die," she vows, marching onward with a steel determination. "I will not let them die."

~~ \-------------------- ~~

Vilkas stares at Skjor intensely as he watches him stuff his pack with travel supplies. "You're following them."

"Of course I am," says Skjor. "Expect the unexpected."

The echoing of Avril's own words would have brought a smile to his face if he were not about to see off his Shield-Brother to a coven of witches. Ria and Njada left just moments before, and Skjor wants to see how they handle the hags without them knowing of his presence. He'll be there for assistance in case they need it.

The pit in Vilkas's stomach is something he should know better than to ignore, but regardless, he does.

"Be safe, brother," Vilkas says, patting Skjor on the shoulder with a grim look on his face.

Skjor appraises his expression with a crooked grin. "Don't look so depressing, Vilkas. I'll be fine. It's just some hags."

Vilkas lifts the corners of his mouth, but the smile is hollow. "Of course it is. But, expect the unexpected. It's possible the Silver Hand could be there first again."

Vilkas highly doubts that. If the Silver Hand knew where the Glenmoril coven was, Avril would've told him.

Unless she couldn't have known?

The fact that Avril still won't concede who her father is bothers him to no end. He knows that if she were just some blacksmith's daughter, there would be no reason to hide it. She must be the daughter of a high-standing member, but Vilkas doesn't know enough about Silver Hand ranks to make a guess. She certainly has that air of authority about her, even if she doesn't seem the type to throw her weight around.

The fact that he knows her well enough to make that assumption gives him a feeling somewhere between joy and regret. The way he feels for her is growing into something threatening the line of friendship. He has recently caught himself admiring more than the color of her eyes and the sheen of her midnight hair.

Vilkas wonders if she is self-conscious of her thicker thighs, like most women are. He wonders if her high cheekbones have anything to do with the way her blush seems focused only on her cheeks, unlike other women who flush all over their face. He wonders how it would feel to grab her by the hips and shove her against a wall, how the curve of her flesh would feel beneath his fingers, if he could fit both of her wrists in one hand to pin them up above her while he holds her flush against his body...

Vilkas swears to himself and turns from Skjor to try to hide the reddening of his face. Skjor doesn't seem to notice.

He knows growing fond of her is a futile thing. She probably doesn't even feel the same way. How could she? The Silver Hand see the Companions as filthy mongrels, nothing more than mindless dogs.

But she's not like the others, is she?

She obviously doesn't feel entirely like the others. They have a companionable friendship blossoming, one Vilkas never expected he could even get from another member of the Companions. The closest thing would perhaps be his friendship with Aela, but that's hardly a tender thing. They are Shield-Siblings. No, Avril is something else entirely.

Avril is infuriating, stubborn, hot-headed, impossible. He wants to tear her apart at times, and other times he wants to trap her and search her body for every blemish, every curve, every scar.

Vilkas shakes his head and leaves the room, grumbling to himself. He could waste hours thinking of her, but he has more pressing matters to attend.

~~ \-------------------- ~~

Avril's snowy path finally gives way to grass and she finds herself looking across the great expanse that is Whiterun Hold. The Glenmoril coven is further south still, in the southwestern reaches of Falkreath Hold, but the landmark makes her feel a bit more at ease. Seeing Whiterun makes her think of Vilkas, and she can't help but feel reassured when she thinks of him.

That damnable man has weaseled his way under her skin, and that's not entirely a bad thing.

 _But he's a Companion,_ her Silver Hand blood tells her.

Even if he cures his lycanthropy, what can she expect? He wouldn't leave the Companions, nor she the Silver Hand. They both have families, and those families will never be anything more than bitter rivals. It's the way it's always been. Even if you take the wolf from the Companions, Garrett is never going to change his ways.

The Silver Hand are werewolf hunters. That's all they have ever been, all they'll ever be. Garrett will still hunt the Companions. It's all he knows.

Avril has found herself wondering why Garrett so violently hunts the Companions. In truth, one would logically think that the Companions finding the Glenmoril coven would be a good thing, the first step to their cure, to ridding the world of their kind.

But, no, he wants them to stay as they are. He's keeping them from their cure. Why?

Perhaps it's simply that he wants them to be punished for accepting the boon in the first place. Perhaps he doesn't want a reason to have to change his ways.

Perhaps he's simply a stubborn old fool.

Either way, Avril has to stop him. She has to save Ria and Njada, and whoever the Circle sent with them.

If she doesn't... Vilkas may never speak to her again.

~~\--------------------~~

Jon runs his fingers through his black hair, sighing. He has to do this. For Aaron's sake, he has to do this.

"Father?"

Garrett turns and smiles upon seeing his son, but the look on his face makes his smile vanish. "My son. What's wrong?"

All of Jon's resolve melts. He bites back the bitter feeling in his throat, the sting of shame that he will swear to his dying breath he's never felt. "I-um.. I'm concerned."

Garrett lifts a brow. "Why is that?"

Jon coughs, trying to shake his nerves. _I'm a fool. A coward._ "Uncle Gaven. We need to know what happened to him."

Garrett nods solemnly. "Yes, we do, but he hasn't seen fit to confide in anyone. Even me. Whatever happened to him, he is content to keep it to himself. I wish I could find whoever did this to him, mount their head for a trophy. Anything to take that fearful shade from his eyes."

Jon is slightly taken aback. It makes sense, the way his father feels for his brother, but Jon can't feel the same companionship. He can't. Not with what he knows.

"I just... wanted to know if he'd told you anything. I suppose there's my answer. I'll leave you to your work," Jon says, quickly escaping the room and his father's judging glare.

_I don't deserve Aaron's love. I don't deserve the way he looks at me, as though I were precious. I don't deserve him._

_I don't deserve him._

~~ \-------------------- ~~

Gaven looks around the room frantically, knowing he left it here somewhere, but where? Where where where?

He tears through his chests, his bags, his shelves. He left it here. He knows he did.

There. Oh, there. The golden glimmer from the surface of the amulet sends a wave of warmth through him at the memory of _her._

Her eyes, her smile, her beautiful hair.

Her beautiful black hair.

"My love," he murmurs, cradling the amulet against his cheek. "I am so, so sorry, my love."

He clicks the latch on the side of the amulet and the face opens to reveal an engraving within. It's the finest work he's ever done, his proudest creation.

He rubs the pad of his thumb over the name, his heart twisting.

"My sweet Elisa..," he murmurs, a tear streaking down his cheek. "I am so sorry, my love."

~~\--------------------~~

Ria looks over at Njada as they near the cave, taking a breath to steady herself. "Here goes nothing."

Njada nods and bites her lip. Ria can practically smell how nervous her Shield-Sister is, the beads of sweat on her forehead from more than just travel.

"Ready?" Ria says, smiling softly.

"Ready," Njada confirms, and they enter the cave, weapons drawn.

Njada holds up her shield to block the spit of venom from the Frostbite Spider while Ria charges ahead and swings her greatsword at the Hagraven, snarling viciously. The hag readies a fireball in her hand, but Ria is faster and the blade delves into her gut, the Magicka dying out in the witch's hand.

Ria pulls her blade free with a _zing_ and spins around to cleave the witch's head before she even hits the ground. Ria catches the head and grins wolfishly.

"One," she says, holding it up to Njada.

She grimaces. "One."

They tuck the witch head away in one of the sacks they brought, and turn to head deeper into the cave.

After all of the witch heads are collected, they clap their bracers together and smile triumphantly. "That wasn't too bad," Ria says.

"Nah, as long as my eyebrows grow back," Njada chuckles, wiping the black singe marks from her cheek.

They trek out of the cave, babbling about their battle, and stop short as they exit the cave.

Ria's heart sinks as the silver blade slides across Skjor's throat and he crumples to the ground.

~~\--------------------~~

Avril finally comes across the cave, but it looks too quiet. She hopes the blood stains on the ground are from the hag's previous victims and not the Companions.

She enters the cave silently with her bow drawn and an arrow readied. It's too quiet. Maybe the Companions came in and out without ever encountering the Silver Hand?

 _That's too much to hope for,_ Avril curses to herself.

When she rounds the corner and the path opens up into a vast cavern, Avril stops short and lets out a muffled cry at the sight before her. She falls to her knees and drops her bow, putting both hands over her mouth.

Bodies are strewn about the cavern, each viciously slain with wounds that only a werewolf could make.

All of the bodies are Silver Hand.

Avril shakes her head and moves from body to body, seeing who all has been lost. She recognizes Alden, the hunter she challenged to an arm wrestling match just two weeks before. Every face is one that strums her heart, wrenching a knife into her chest. There's at least twelve hunters here.

"I'm so sorry," she says, shaking her head. This must have been Skjor. Maybe the Companions all escaped. Maybe Avril wasn't needed after all.

Of course, that's too much to hope for as well. But she may as well.

There are no Companions among the bodies, just Silver Hand. Avril takes the liberty of scouting the rest of the cave, finding the decapitated heads of five Hagravens, along with their pets.

Even amidst the fallen comrades, Avril takes comfort in the thought that at least the Companions still have their chance at a cure.

Vilkas still has a chance for a cure.

 _We're almost free,_ her father's words echo through her mind, making her let out a strained cry. She doesn't stop. She cries for the fallen warriors, for the lives lost, for the knowledge that even if she'd been on time, she couldn't have saved them. She couldn't have faced the Companions to protect her comrades, and she couldn't have faced her comrades for the Companions. She would have been useless. She _is_ useless.

And she cries because she knows that Vilkas will be overjoyed when his Shield-Siblings return with the witches' heads while she sits here and mourns her fallen family.

 _This isn't love,_ she scolds herself. _This is war._


	7. Across the Crimson Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Skjor's death rattles the Companions, but they aren't the only ones mourning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took so long to update. I'm a high school junior and classes just started back (holy crap, Algebra 2 and Chemistry on top of Honors French and Honors English) so, as you can imagine, the homework has been thankless. I've been writing drabbles in all of my notebooks, waiting for the chance to pick this back up.
> 
> Please do let me know what you think! I hope the pacing isn't too quick. I've re-read the entire work so many times, I can't tell if I'm dragging or sprinting.

Avril sits on a bench in front of the table where the Silver Hand's few pieces of Wuuthrad lie in a small, unceremonious heap. Vilkas told her once that the Companions mount the pieces on a wall in the great hall of Jorrvaskr. Knowing that makes seeing the pieces scattered on an old, wooden table rather bitter.

"You know, I've been meaning to ask for some time now, but I think I don't want to know the answer."

Avril jumps and looks over her shoulder to see Jon enter the small room. There are two total tables in the chamber, one on either side upon a raised platform. Avril leans forward on her elbows and lets a small huff of air out through her nose.

"Ask away, dear brother. I can't imagine the great Wise One declining wisdom." Her tone is mocking, but her face is solemn. Grief and bitterness has put the chief's daughter in a rather sour mood.

"Mm," he murmurs, swinging one leg over the bench and sitting sideways, facing her. He leans against the table, propping his cheek against his knuckles. "I find it very hard to believe that you would think your flights from the fort in the dead of night would escape my notice. I didn't think much of it, until I saw you flee the night our hunters were slaughtered in the Glenmoril cave. Now I am rather curious."

Avril bites her lip gently, regretting that she didn't prepare herself for this before now. She knew it would be coming.

"It was nothing."

"I found it, you know," says Jon, his eyes glancing over the pile of Wuuthrad shards.

Avril's brow quirks. "Found what?"

"The shard you kept for yourself. See, with you out of the fort so often now on your little, mysterious ventures... I've found that I have plenty of opportunity to snoop for answers where the lips of my dear sister do not provide them." Jon grins mischievously, and it takes a lot of restraint for Avril not to backhand that smile off his face.

"You've been snooping through my-"

Jon lifts a hand to stop her inevitable raving and tilts his head. "I didn't take anything and I moved everything back where I found it. I just find it so curious. You don't keep a journal, that kind of thing is much too sentimental for your tastes. You're really not a sentimental girl, dear sister. But that shard. I know that's the shard from your Proving."

Avril narrows her eyes, opening her mouth, but he continues before she can speak.

"And," he says, "that wouldn't be a suspicious thing. Of course it wouldn't. It's from your Proving, why not keep it as a token? A souvenir? Gosh, and then I got to thinking..."

She knows what he's going to say, she really does, but she can't help herself feeling stunned when he finally does.

"That head you brought home was human. Completely human. Father was too proud to think to look, but after all this sneaking around you've been doing.. how could I not be suspicious, sister? The boy had no enlarged canines, no golden-hued eyes, not even a pointed ear. He was just an average Nord." At this, Jon grins even wider and shakes his head some, as if mocking her. "What's more, it was a _human_ head. Come now, sister, you know these beasts. They fight as beasts. The thing would've shifted as soon as the fight turned against its favor. Every single trophy head we have is a wolf. You didn't think it'd be just a little suspicious?"

Avril scowls. "You're speaking nonsense."

"Perhaps I am. Or perhaps that head you brought home wasn't a wolf, maybe not even a Companion!" Jon drops his grin slightly, seeming to bore of his own game. "Alright, come now, sister. Just tell me. What happened during your Proving? Where have you been going off to?"

Avril seems taken aback by his sudden directness. It's rather uncharacteristic of her endearingly irritating brother. So, reluctantly and unable to deny her brother's knowing gaze, she carefully tells him of the events at Dustman's Cairn.

What she leaves out, however, is that she went back for Vilkas after she woke in the woods and that is what sparked their friendly-rival... what, friendship? Relationship? Even Avril isn't sure on that one. No use explaining it.

Jon listens intently, nodding along as she regales him. "I see. Clever move, using your own arrow to poison you." Jon smirks slightly, his teasing easing some of Avril's pent-up tension. "More clever still, bringing home the thief's head so you wouldn't return empty-handed. Though, I wish you would have confided in me sooner, sister. You know you can trust me."

Avril shrugs a bit, unsure what to say. "I'm not entirely sure who I can trust anymore," she admits.

Jon's expression softens to something bridging concern and understanding. "You still never told me where you've been going."

She frowns. "Would it satisfy you to know that I'm safe? I'm not putting myself in danger."

His expression tells her that, of course, he isn't satisfied. She sighs and concedes.

"The Circle member that poisoned me with my arrow, I.. well, I went back to hunt him down after I returned from the Proving. That was the first time I left..."

"And.. then what? Did you find him?" Jon asks, as if she were telling a story.

Avril nods. "Yes, I did. But, you know how the wolves are. I couldn't shoot him, he'd just dodge it. He saw me coming. He probably smelled me from a mile away. I tried attacking him with my sword, but he disarmed me and grabbed me. I thought he was going to slit my throat with my own sword, but he just tossed it and pushed me away. Gods, he wasn't even armed and I was no match for him. It was rather humiliating."

Jon processes that a moment, analyzing her every word. "Alright, fair enough. So you didn't kill him. What happened? Did you run? Did he?"

She shakes her head. "No, we.. talked. It started off pretty violent, but he said something.. he said he doesn't shift anymore."

"What?" Jon says, dumbfounded as she was that night.

"Yeah," she nods. "Apparently most of the Circle have refrained from giving in to the blood. Their Harbinger, Kodlak, he's found the cure. The heads of the witches from the Glenmoril coven, that's the cure to lycanthropy, or so he's theorized. That's why they were there. But Father..."

Jon knits his brows, understanding but growing ever more confused. "Father tried to have them killed. Surely he knows about the witches, he knows about the cure. If Kodlak Whitemane knows, our father knows. But the cure would be a good thing, right? Wouldn't it?"

"You would think," Avril says. "At least, that's what I thought. When he told me about it.. he said 'we're almost free'. I don't know what he meant, but that's where I went the last time I left. I was going to intercept the Companions going to the coven, warn them of the ambush, but I was too late. The Companions were gone and our hunting party was slaughtered. The witches' bodies were there, as well, all decapitated. So they must have made it back to Whiterun. I haven't spoken to Vilkas since, so I don't know anything more."

Jon nods, the gears of his brain already in motion. "You have to find out, Avril. You have to meet with Vilkas again. When's your next rendezvous?"

Avril thinks a moment. "Err, tomorrow night. We've been meeting every three days. That's if he even thinks I'll show, giving what happened."

"You have to try," Jon says, rising from the bench. He pats her shoulder and offers a smile, turning to leave. Before he disappears around the corner, he stops and looks over his shoulder at her.

"You love him, don't you?" he asks, smiling slightly.

Avril furrows her brow and scowls. "Of course not. He's a dog."

"Right. Of course. Do tell me what you find out, little sister." With that, he's gone.

~~\--------------------~~

Vilkas has never been one to worry, but the Shield-Siblings sent to the witch coven were scheduled to return yesterday, and their absence is eating away at Vilkas's mind.

 _I knew they shouldn't have gone. I knew it felt wrong. I knew it!_ he chides to himself, as if it would help anything.

When they finally arrive, seeing them appear at the base of the steps that lead up to Jorrvaskr brings no comfort in the slightest. Ria and Njada, each dragging a blood-dripping sack, carry Skjor through the courtyard, an arm over each of their shoulders. His throat is slit.

Aela is the first to react.

 _"No!"_ she shrieks, barreling down the stairs five at a time. "How has this happened!?"

Vilkas is next to follow, along with everyone else. They surround the prodigal Siblings and Vilkas and Farkas move forward to relieve Ria and Njada of their charge. Their shoulders slump with exhaustion as soon as Skjor is removed from them.

Vilkas and Farkas carry him up the stairs, their faces grim and somber, Vilkas with the arms and Farkas with the legs. They lay him on the ground before the hall, then return to take the two bloodied sacks and stash them in the Underforge.

Aela shudders with grief, choking out mangled sobs as she kneels before Skjor's corpse and clutches his head to her chest.

"He was the strongest we had," she mutters, her eyes closed tightly as if not seeing this would make it go away. "He was so strong."

Vilkas returns and places a hand on Aela's shoulder, his heart twisting with grief. Skjor was not the closest brother to him, but he was a brother. He was a strong brother, as Aela said. He was family.

Vilkas turns to Ria and Njada, still shaking with unease. He approaches them and gives them a reassuring smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He wraps his arms around each of their waists and ushers them inside, leaving the others to watch over Aela in her grief.

"Tell me what happened," he says gently, touching a hand to each of their cheeks.

Ria is the first to speak, her beast blood making her bolder than she was before. "We got the witches' heads from the cave, but when we came out... gods, we didn't know Skjor came with us. He was there, and the Silver Hand.. they slit his throat and came for us. We fled back into the cave and Njada held them off while I shifted. I killed them all."

Her eyes start to water and her voice quivers. "Gods be damned, I killed them all."

Njada slips an arm around her and guides her head to her shoulder, patting her hair gently. She nods to Vilkas and he leaves them to their comfort, letting out a shaking breath.

He knows he has to see her. He has to. If anyone has the answers that his family needs, it will be-

_Avril._

_Oh, gods, Avril._

Ria said the entire hunting party was slaughtered. Vilkas can't even imagine...

The pain of losing Skjor compared to the pain of losing an entire party of your family.

With that solemn thought in mind, Vilkas storms out of Jorrvaskr and leaves the questioning faces behind. They'll assume he's going off to be alone, to sulk in his grief.

No.

He's going to save Avril from hers.

~~\--------------------~~

Avril trudges through the Falkreath Pine Forest, pained from everything that has happened, her thoughts churning violently. The loss of the hunting party was hideous. The grief from that is something that will haunt Avril for a long time to come, and she isn't necessarily looking forward to it.

That's beside the point at the moment. She needs to know if the witch heads made it back to Whiterun. She needs to know if they have the cure.

When she arrives at the rendezvous point, she practically collides into Vilkas in their combined haste.

"Oh!" they both say in unison.

 When they regain their balance, they seem to leave behind their senses as Vilkas grabs Avril and buries her against his chest, crushing her in a hug that mends a little bit of both of them.

Surprised by the sudden embrace, Avril freezes in his grip for several heartbeats, thrown off guard and unsure how to react. Slowly, his warmth starts seeping into her and she relaxes, molding against him and settling her cheek against the hard plate of his wolf armor.

"Well, hello to you, too," Avril mutters with a slight grin.

Vilkas grips her a bit tighter. "Glenmoril. I'm so sorry," was all he could get out, biting down his own grief to give her what comfort he could.

She pushes against him so she can look up at him and meet his face. "You heard about it. There were no Companions at the cave. They survived, then? They're okay?"

Vilkas's face grows dark, but he quickly changes his expression and nods. "Yes. They'll be fine." He shakes his head, afraid his resolve will falter again. "I'm sorry about your hunters. That's why I came here, though I'm probably one of the last people you want to see."

Avril's heart cinches, both at the reminder of the slaughtered hunting party and at the very idea that she would ever not want to see Vilkas. "Don't worry about that, Vilkas. Did the witches' heads make it back? You have the cure?"

Vilkas nods, gladdened by the small victory despite Skjor's sacrifice. "Yes, we have the heads. The cure is in sight. Kodlak prepares as we speak for the next move toward our freedom." His voice is two-toned, the memory of Ria and Njada dragging Skjor to Whiterun with the sacks of Hagraven heads, the blood from the severed heads and Skjor's slit throat leaving a crimson trail behind them. The depth of his anguish is thinly masked across his face, and Avril naturally sees right through him.

"Vilkas," she says softly, a bold hand reaching up to touch his cheek. He nearly comes undone beneath her unexpected touch. Heat melts through him and his knees weaken slightly. "What aren't you telling me?"

He frowns deeply, her perceptiveness causing his nostrils to flare in irritation, but her thumb brushing over his cheekbone extinguishes it immediately. He fumbles for words, afraid of sounding like he's trying to out-grieve her, despite her insisting on the truth. "Ria's joined the Circle. She's been turned into a wolf. She and Njada were tasked with retrieving the witch heads, and Skjor went with them to judge Ria's skill now that she has the blood. The Silver Hand ambushed him outside the cave while they were fighting the hags, and slit his throat. Ria is the one that slaughtered the hunting party."

Avril gapes at him, her mouth hanging open in shock. She isn't sure how to process this, a thousand mixed emotions flooding through her. Grief that one of the Companions was killed; grief for Vilkas having to experience that; rage that it was her own kind that killed him; anguish that they were not only slaughtered, but they were ripped to pieces by a newly turned wolf; hope that her kin died fighting honorably, even though they were killed by one of Vilkas's own... It really gives her a reality shock of how torn she is between the two factions.

She stares at Vilkas, her eyes flashing before melting into an overwhelmed, almost empty glaze. She's over-flowing with so many thoughts and feelings that it's all melding together, and looking now at the man that set all of this off, that wasn't smart enough to just die when he was supposed to, or kill her when he was supposed to....

Avril turns from Vilkas, tears staining her cheeks, honing her white-hot rage into one sharp point.

"I'm going to kill him," she growls, her voice barely a part of herself.

Vilkas, confused and suddenly defensive, says slowly, "Who are you going to kill?"

She closes her eyes and purses her lips, wrapping her arms around herself and cursing everything she's ever been raised on, everything she's been taught, everything she knows because all of it has brought her to this point and has made her feel like _this._

"I'm going to kill my father."


	8. Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Silver Hand lash out at the Companions in revenge for their slain kin and to destroy the witch heads.
> 
> Avril stands at the end of every sword when she has to choose between the life she's only ever known and the life she's grown to love.

Avril isn't stupid.

She may act it, but she isn't.

At least, that's what she tells herself as she lays wrapped in the furs on her bed, staring up at the stone ceiling above her.

_"I'm going to kill my father."_

The words sound hollow to her now, but the pain and fury she felt when she said them hasn't left her. It boils beneath her skin, electrifying her veins.

In her quiet seething, she finds herself easily startled when her door abruptly opens. A surly-looking particular uncle stumbles into the room, muttering gibberish.

"Oh, lookieeeee here. Ish Aveeeril. My faaaaav'rite niece," he garbles, holding up an orange-colored bottle of mead.

"Uncle.." Avril says, warily rising from her bed and standing beside it. "You need to leave."

"Awwwww, don' be like thaaaat. I jush wanna have some fun."

Harsh, scorching memories burn through Avril's mind as she witnesses his drunken state, a thing she hasn't seen in such a long time. She curls her hands into fists, prepared to fight back this time, like she was so afraid to do all that time ago.

Hard to believe it's only been a year.

He moves toward her, flailing his arms around like he's trying to hug a cloud, and she hops up on her bed and moves around him, reaching for the door.

Quicker than she expected, he follows her and slams the door before she can flee, grabbing her by the arm and shoving her back. She stumbles backward, losing her footing and tripping over her bed.

"Awwe, don' be like that, Avril," he complains, that cocky grin across his face, the same as it was so long ago.

She glares at him, sitting up and preparing to attack, to defend herself from his advances. She balls a fist, pulls back her arm and-

A mead bottle cracks over her head and she blacks out.

~~\-------------------~~

Vilkas watches from across the mead hall as his brother regales Ria with some glorious, overly-embellished tale. She clings to his arm affectionately and listens with the utmost interest, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Seeing his brother happy and in love makes Vilkas warm and proud, but also leaves him a bit bitter. He wonders if Avril would ever be like that, carefree and innocent and affectionate. Their brief embrace in the forest had been the most affection they had shown each other, and though it wasn't much, it left Vilkas's skin feeling warm and buzzing. He tingles with the memory of having her in his arms, and aches knowing that every moment with her could be the last.

Njada has been attempting to make advances on Vilkas ever since Skjor's death. He knows she and Skjor had a light fling, and with him gone, she doesn't have many confidants. There isn't a soul in the Companions who doesn't like her, but Skjor and Aela were really her only close siblings, and with Skjor dead and Aela secluded in her hole of despair, Njada has been left out in the cold. Vilkas's gentle rejections haven't helped her feel any less isolated.

Vilkas wonders why he rejects her. Of course, it's obvious, but he still wonders. Does he truly feel that strongly for Avril, that he will deny the attentions of a fellow Shield-Sister? They haven't kissed, they've never even suggested being anything more than companionable friends. So what is the claim he has on her, the hold she has on him? He can't deny she's attractive, stunningly so. But Njada is, too.

Vilkas sighs, and shakes his head. He has to face it. He's in love with Avril.

The notion seems so foolish. She's a Silver Hand, and he's a werewolf. She doesn't see him as anything more than a useful source of information at best, and a filthy dog at worst. Their friendship is a fragile thing, and it's ridiculous to think it could ever be anything more. They are friends. That's it.

Vilkas's lip twitches at the thought of them only ever being friends. He can't lie to himself. He can't keep himself from wondering what it would be like to hold her, not just in a comforting embrace but truly _hold_ her. To feel her listen to his heartbeat, to run his hands over her smooth skin and nuzzle his nose in that intoxicating blanket of silky black hair. He wonders what her lips taste like, if they are as sweet and supple as they look, if she would bite his lip if he let her. And gods, would he let her.

His fingers curl in a rising sense of _need._ A deep, burning, primal need. When was the last time he had a woman in his bed? When was the last time he felt a woman's touch?

Despite his neglected wolf blood pining for him to seek a lover, he knows he won't be satisfied. Bedding some random Whiterun woman would do him no good; he would only wish it was _her,_ and where would that get him?

Vilkas finishes off his mead and scowls at the empty tankard, then stands and looks for Aela. When he finds her, he asks if there are any jobs available, which is a stupid question, but surprisingly, she refuses.

"Kodlak was looking for you, actually. You should go see him."

Vilkas lifts a brow at that, and heads to the old man's quarters. He finds him sitting at the table outside his room, scrawling something in a journal. When he notices Vilkas's approach, he hurriedly puts it away and smiles.

"I've found it," he says proudly.

"Found what?" Vilkas asks, hopeful. Maybe this is it, the next step toward their cure.

"The Harbinger's Flame. It's in the heart of Ysgramor's Tomb, far north in the ice fields. I'm almost certain that if we throw the witch heads into the flame, it will release their magic." Kodlak's eyes are bright with joy.

Vilkas grins. "That's amazing. This is it, then? Shall I tell the Circle to prepare for travel to the tomb?"

Kodlak shakes his head, his face still joyful but slightly solemn. "No, Vilkas. There is one more thing we need. To ensure the tomb could not be desecrated, Ysgramor's descendants found a way of sealing it. The tomb can only be opened when Wuuthrad is placed in the hands of a statue of Ysgramor guarding the entrance."

Vilkas's grin fades and he calculates this in his mind. "But we don't have Wuuthrad."

"No," Kodlak agrees, "we don't. But the only way to access the tomb is with Wuuthrad, so we need to retrieve the pieces. You know what that means, Vilkas."

Oh, he knows what that means. He knows too damn well.

"I have to take them back from the Silver Hand."

~~ \------------------- ~~

Jon stands outside the door, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He closes his eyes, his mind swimming and his stomach in knots.

Then he knocks.

"Aaron? It's me. Can I come in?"

Nothing. He knocks again.

"Aaron?"

Still nothing. Jon frowns, furrowing his thick brows. He pushes against the door gently, and it creeps open. It's unlocked.

"Aaron. Are you in here?"

The room is empty, dimly lit by a single candle on the desk in the far corner. A book lays open on the desk, a strip of fabric marking the page. A quill sits to the side, along with an ink-blotting cloth and a sealed ink well.

Jon approaches the desk, his eyes scanning the book. It's dated, with words scrawled in a scratchy script that can only belong to a man trained in fighting instead of writing. Aaron words are drifting across his vision, all of his inner thoughts splayed out for Jon to see, and he can't resist.

_Morndas, 16th of Second Seed, 4E 202_

_It's Jon. It's always Jon. I know that he loves me, and I know that I love him, but what do I do? He's never going to tell his father, and I understand that. I understand perfectly. He's ashamed of me, and his High Chief father isn't going to understand. He'll have me exiled, or killed. Maybe Jon, too, if he wasn't such a prodigy. I wonder sometimes if I fell in love with the wrong sibling._

The words stick a knife in Jon's gut. Fell in love with the wrong sibling? He likes men _and_ women? He was interested in _Avril?_ What the hell?

_Maybe this time I'll do it. Maybe this time I'll leave, and let Jon decide what's important to him; finding his lover or making his daddy proud? Maybe I'll tell Garrett the truth myself, consequences be damned. Maybe I'll tell Avril, see what she thinks of her brother's poor choice in love interests._

_Maybe I'll just kill myself and be done with it. Save Jon the shame._

Jon chokes down a strangled sound, his heart clenching at the thought of walking into Aaron's room and finding him hanging from the rafters with a noose around his neck. He flips through the pages, and all of them are filled with basically the same thing. Self-pity. Shame. Suicide threats.

The last page is what shocks him the most.

_Turdas, 27th of Second Seed, 4E 202_

_I heard the screams in Avril's room, but I didn't know what to do. I saw Gaven go in there, drunk off his ass, and then I heard him hollering and shouting but I couldn't make out anything he said. Then I heard the crash. He must've thrown the bottle, or broken it. Maybe he hit her over the head with it._

_He left the room an hour later sweaty and unkempt. Oh gods. I don't know what happened, not for sure, but I'm not stupid. I have to get out of here. I have to leave._

_Jon will never forgive me._

Jon drops the book and runs to Avril's room. _This can't be happening, this can't be happening!_ He slams through the door, and gapes.

There's blood on the blankets. Not much, but it's there. The blankets have been thrown around the room, and in a pile on the bed are the shattered remnants of a mead bottle.

Avril is gone.

Her bow, Adrie, and her travel gear is gone, as well. She must have gone to Vilkas, in Whiterun.

_By the gods._

Jon runs from the room and heads in the general direction of the war room. People cast him questioning looks as he blusters by, his face red with fury. He ignores them, his vision tunneled on the stone corridors ahead of him. He sees the doors at the end of the hall, and picks up the pace. When he bursts through the double doors, Garrett stands there with wide eyes, leaning over the strategy map.

Gaven stands beside him, looking confused as ever.

Jon bares his teeth like a dog and narrows his eyes at his uncle.

"You fucking bastard," he snarls.

He glides toward him at frightening speed, on him in a second with a fistful of the man's tunic and his breath hot on Gaven's face. Jon lifts a fist, poised for a debilitating strike.

Garrett grabs his arm and pries them apart, shoving Jon to the ground.

"What the hell!?" Garrett shouts, standing between them. Gaven looks utterly horrified, and Jon looks murderous.

"Do you know what he did to your daughter!?" Jon growls, jumping to his feet in one swift move. He points an accusing finger at his uncle.

"What the bloody hell are you on about, boy?" Gaven says, glaring at Jon. His eyes are a dare.

Jon meets his glare firmly, then looks at his father. "Gaven raped Avril. Aaron heard it."

Both brothers freeze and look at each other, their faces paralyzed in shock.

Garrett is the first to speak. "What are you talking about?"

Jon suddenly wishes he hadn't dropped Aaron's journal in Avril's room. "I went looking for Aaron in his room and found his journal. His last entry says he heard Gaven rape Avril. Aaron didn't know what to do, so he fled. Now Aaron and Avril are both gone."

Gaven sputters, waving a hand at Jon, his eyes on Garrett. "Brother, please! The boy is lying! I would never hurt my niece, that's crazy! And what does this Aaron boy know, anyway? He isn't even here!"

Garrett spins suddenly and his hand is around Gaven's throat, pinning him against the wall.

Gaven tries to speak, but his vocal chords are crushed under Garret's grip.

"I was a fool to forgive you after what happened with Elisa, I know that, but I could never have imagined you would do the same to my _daughter!_ No illusions of brotherly kinship will save your blighted hide this time, Gaven. This time, you will _die_ for what you've done."

Garrett's arm swings back, and this time, there's nothing to stop the punch from striking across Gaven's face. The impact is audible. Jon flinches, his face grim.

Gaven slumps to the ground, unconscious. Jon hesitantly says, "Father. What happened with Mother?"

Garrett doesn't turn to face his son when he answers. "Gaven loved Elisa first. They met in their youth, got engaged, but her father wouldn't allow it. Gaven's always been a drinker. Her father didn't approve of him. I had never met her or her father, but years later we ran into each other, and I swear... I loved her the moment I saw her. Her father had passed away years before, so I never did get to meet him.

Anyway, I brought her home, of course. We courted for some time. When Gaven saw her, he recognized her instantly, but he swore his feelings for her had passed, and I knew she didn't love him anymore. It was a fling of their youth and we all shared a good laugh over it."

Garrett finally turns, his face dark and full of regret. "It was a few years after you came along when it happened. Elisa came to me, crying, saying she wanted Gaven gone. I found out what he did to her. He was drunk and depressed and she was trying to comfort him. Things got out of hand. I didn't forgive him for years, but I eventually came around after his endless pleading. Brotherly kinship, indeed. I thought it was all gone and buried. When Elisa died, it was nice to take comfort in my brother and my children. I wasn't whole, but I wasn't empty. I had a new daughter and Gaven helped me raise her. When Gaven went missing last year, I hated feeling slightly relieved, that maybe he had finally gotten justice for what he did, but then he shows up here again and... and _this."_

Garrett approaches Jon, and for possibly the first time since Jon's youth, Garrett opens his arms and embraces his son, hugging him tightly.

It ends quickly and Garrett gives a firm nod. "Now help me take this bastard to the cells."

~~\--------------------~~

 

Avril stumbles through the snow, the wound on her forehead bleeding profusely and causing blood to pour down the side of her face. Her vision is blurred, and the heavy sheets of snow aren't helping. She whimpers with each step, a sharp pain spiking through her from her core, and she hates herself with every throb.

 _I am going to slice his throat for this,_ she vows to herself.

The humiliation and hatred she felt when she woke in her bed, alone and half-dressed and covered in her own blood, was excruciating. Every part of her thrummed with pain, but the sharpest points were in the wound on her forehead where the bottle broke over her skull and deep in her womanhood where her resistance caused his forced penetration to rip her open. She knows she is bleeding from there, as well, but that is something that can wait. That's her problem. The gash in her scalp is a healer's problem.

A healer, however, seems to be in short supply in the middle of this blizzard. Avril trudges through the hammering snow, but she knows she won't make it very far before her stamina gives out. It would be downright humiliating to freeze to death after everything she's survived.

Her mind may be deceiving her -is _probably_ deceiving her-, but there, in the distance, she makes out the barest silhouette of a tall, thin structure. A light pulses from atop it every few seconds.

_What is that?_

Several staggered lurches forward and she begins making out the shape. The light isn't pulsing; it's rotating.

It's a lighthouse.

Avril picks up the pace, causing the pain emanating through her body to increase tenfold, but she urges her injured limbs forward with all the strength her will can muster.

After what seems like hours, she finds herself stumbling on the front steps of a tall, towering lighthouse. The light from a fire glows through the crack beneath the door, and she shoves it open with the remnants of her strength and some help from the billowing blizzard wind.

What she finds is nothing short of shocking.

The body of a Redguard woman lays in the center of the room, an odd-looking war axe protruding from her chest. The room is in utter disarray, the table knocked over and random food and items scattered about the floor. That isn't the most interesting thing about the room, however.

There, sitting by the fire, wrapped in a blanket and staring at Avril with large, shocked eyes, is Aaron.

"Aaron!" Avril gasps, her voice raspy from disuse and the cold winter air. "Gods, what happened here? What are you doing here?"

Aaron quickly looks over at the dead woman, and shakes his head. "Oh, gods, I didn't do this, I swear. This place was overrun by Falmer and Chaurus. I killed the lot, but the family that lived here was already dead."

He gestures to a nearby Chaurus corpse with his sword, and Avril examines it with a wary look.

When she looks back at Aaron, his face goes pale. "Shor's blood, Avril," he says, noticing her various wounds. She can only imagine how she must look, her head bleeding profusely and her gear stained with blood from the various cuts along her body caused by laying in a pile of broken glass. "Let me help you."

He hurries over to her and drapes his blanket around her, scooping her up and maneuvering through the mess. He takes her to a bedroom on the far side of the circular chamber and lays her on the bed gently. Several rolls of linen and bandages are scattered about the room haphazardly, and he busies himself gathering as many as he can.

Aaron manages to find a needle and a spool of thread in what Avril assumes is the Redguard woman's bedside table. He returns to her and uses the linen cloth to wipe the blood from her face.

"There's no water here. Everything was either spilled or used by the Falmer. I'm sorry, this is the best I can do," Aaron says apologetically. Avril wonders why he seems so guilty. It's not like he's the one who wounded her.

"That's alright. I didn't expect much, wandering into a blizzard with all of these wounds."

Aaron glances up at her, but quickly averts his eyes, unable to hold her face. Avril frowns.

"What is it?"

He doesn't answer, instead turning his attention to the needle and spool. He tugs some thread from the roll and busies himself trying to poke the end through the needle's eye.

"Aaron," Avril says firmly. "Why do you look like that? What's wrong?"

Aaron just shakes his head. "It's nothing for you to worry about. Lie back, try to rest. This is probably going to hurt worse than it should. I'm no good at patching people up."

His words seem to have a double meaning, but it's lost on Avril. Instead of fussing over it, she decides to take his advice and lay back on the bed, settling into what warmth she can muster in the freezing blankets. It's been a long time since someone's slept here.

~~\--------------------~~

Vilkas sighs as he readies his travel gear. He doesn't plan on raiding the Silver Hand refuge alone, but he does need to scout the area, and luckily, he has a job in Winterhold to complete, so he can do it on the way. After listening to Avril speak of her family and friends in the Silver Hand, Vilkas feels sick to his stomach at the thought of raiding their fortress and slaying them all.

But that isn't really his intention, though, is it?

In truth, Vilkas hopes he can convince Avril to simply steal the shards and bring them to him. Scouting the refuge and making plans for a raid is merely a formality. If Vilkas leaves now and shows up in a week with a sack full of shards, he's sure no one will ask too many questions. Werewolves aren't known for their smart decisions. It'll be easy enough to say he decided he was invincible and raided the refuge by himself.

Thinking of Avril and the Silver Hand brings back an old question, one that still gnaws at him even though Avril seems adamant about not answering it. Who is her father? That is one question she forcefully refuses to answer, and Vilkas wants to know why. He cannot seem to fathom a reason for hiding it. Perhaps that's just because he had a rather unremarkable father, and he sees no reason to hide it, so why should anyone else?

Unless her father isn't unremarkable?

 _Bah,_ he mentally grumbles, perishing the thought. If Avril doesn't want him to know, he doesn't have to know.

He sets out in the early evening, and by the looks of it, he should make Driftshade by later that night or early the next morning.

 

His estimation is correct, and he arrives late in the night. The refuge comes into view at the top of a snow-covered hill. A sentry is stationed on top of the refuge, and a warhammer-wielding brute stands guard at the door. Vilkas manages to remain unseen as he makes a large circle around the half-buried fort and registers any notable landmarks in the area. When he's satisfied, he continues heading north, toward the awaiting job in Winterhold.

~~\--------------------~~

Avril hates stitches when they're done _well._ Aaron's attempt at stitching may have actually made her head wound worse, but at least the bleeding has stopped.

In the freezing tower, she can't find sleep. She's in pain and unbearably cold, despite the weak heat from the fire. Aaron, on the other hand, snores away on his bed, one leg thrown over the side and an arm over his eyes.

Avril twitches nervously, hating sitting still. She needs to _go._ She doesn't know where, but the blizzard has died down and she has this itching urge to be anywhere but here. Aaron's odd attitude around her has her mind reeling, and the way he acts like he's responsible for her injuries is suspicious and exhausting. If she had a bottle of ale for every time he apologized to her for nothing.

She has already tidied up what she could of the room. She buried the Redguard woman's body outside, but she didn't dare venture downstairs to sift through the Falmar and Chaurus corpses. Perhaps some other time she would go down below and lay the woman's family to rest properly, but not tonight.

Fed up with watching the fire, she decides to set out and hunt for some game, or at the very least, some wood. She takes Adrie and heads out the door, into the snow.

The downpour has stopped, mercifully, and the lights from the aurora make it possible to see. As she expected, there's no game in sight, but a light spattering of trees in the distance with the potential for firewood.

She treks in that direction, humming to herself absently. The glittering snow crunches under her boots, a beat for her to vocalize to.

Though she knows logically there shouldn't be anyone else out here, she stops in her tracks when she swears she sees a figure move in the distance. Not an animal figure, a _figure._ A person.

She draws her bow and narrows her eyes, trying hard to see more than what her Breton sight is allowing her, but it's too far off and it's too dark. She can't make it out. It looks tall and broad, like a man's build.

Avril notches an arrow and draws, aiming somewhere to the right of the figure. She doesn't want to hit him, but she wants him to know she's there.

The warning shot hits a few feet off her mark, thanks to the light breeze and the long distance, but the figure does notice. He turns to face her, then begins trudging toward her at a brisk pace.

He draws his weapon, and she swears under her breath.

"Who are you!" she calls into the night air, doubting she'll be heard over such a long distance.

Surprisingly, the figure stops his approach for a moment. He calls something back, but she can't make it out. It sounds like two syllables.

Then, he's racing toward her. Avril draws another arrow quickly and aims, but he comes close enough for her to make out the details of his face, the dark war paint around his eyes, the black hair blustering across his face...

...and the sheen of the silver wolf armor.

"Vilkas?" she says, dropping her bow and running toward him. The quick movement makes her head spin, but she makes it to him and leaps at him, his arms catching her around the waist and holding her up.

"Avril," he mutters, burying his nose in her shoulder and inhaling deeply.

"What are you doing out here?" she says, squeezing his neck and pressing her ice-cold face against the warm skin of his bare cheek and neck. It feels heavenly.

"I have a job in Winterhold," he tells her, feeling her frozen skin and holding her tighter. He sits her down and nestles her in the crook of his arm, leading her to where she dropped her bow. They are close enough to the lighthouse to see the light spinning in the distance. He nods toward it. "Please tell me that's yours."

"For now, it is. Come on, there's a sorry excuse for a fire going." Avril smiles and they make the walk to the lighthouse, neither one releasing the other. Even through his steel armor, she can feel the body heat radiating from him. He's like a personal furnace. She clings to him like a hot mug of mead on a chilly night.

~~\--------------------~~

They enter the lighthouse, and Vilkas notices a man sleeping on a bed on the far side of the room. The cold air that blusters in from outside makes him stir slightly, but he just grumbles something and rolls over. In seconds, he's back to snoring. Avril smiles a bit. Vilkas lifts a brow.

"Friend of yours?"

"Yes, actually. He's a Silver Hand. He was here before me."

They settle in front of the fire and Vilkas soon realizes his armor is too clunky to get comfortable in. In minutes, he's removed it and discarded it neatly nearby, leaving himself in only a soft tunic and pants.

When he sits cross-legged by the fire, Avril snuggles up beside him and wraps a blanket around him. They share it, sitting as close as they can be without being in each other's laps. Vilkas has an arm settled around Avril's waist, and she rests a hand on his thigh with her head on his shoulder. Vilkas revels in their proximity, wondering if she is cuddled up to him out of genuine affection or desperation for warmth.

"So what _are_ you doing out here, exactly?" Vilkas asks, reaching up to brush a stray curl from her face, and he notices the awkward stitching above her brow. Seeing that, he does a quick once-over of her and realizes she's actually covered in crusty, dried patches of blood. Her arms and what he can see of her shoulders are spattered with minor cuts. His face suddenly becomes very serious. "What happened to you?"

Avril frowns instantly, her eyes guarded and distant. "Uncle Gaven paid a visit. I'm fine."

White-hot fury wells up in Vilkas, his chest visibly swelling with rage. "What did he do to you?" he growls in a deep, murderous voice.

Avril rests a hand on his chest and squeezes his leg gently, an attempt to calm him. Though it fails to ease his anger, he does appreciate the show of affection, a wave of intoxicating warmth spreading through him.

"Well, I found out that getting hit over the head with a bottle of ale hurts. I wouldn't recommend it. Then laying in the shards doesn't feel much better."

A haunted look passes over her face, and Vilkas's heart clenches. He knows she's leaving out the worst part, but it isn't hard to piece it all together. He broke a bottle over her head and raped her, then left her laying in the broken glass.

_I'm going to tear that bastard to pieces._

Vilkas's grip tightens protectively around her, and he finds himself scooping up her small form and placing her in his lap. She doesn't object, though she seems surprised. He guides her head back to his shoulder and rubs her back until her breathing evens out and she settles against him. The entire thing makes his heart flutter. He wonders absently if she can hear it racing in his chest.

He kisses the top of her head, resting his nose in the tantalizing smell of her luscious, black hair. He feels her inhale slightly, and revels in making her catch her breath. The hand that isn't rubbing her back rests upon her cheek, a thumb brushing over her cheekbone.

Just then, she pulls away enough to look at him, and her eyes are tender and sincere.

"Vilkas..." she begins, her lips twitching up in a smile as her eyes glance down quickly, looking over the shape of his lips.

They lean slightly closer, the electricity sizzling between them until finally-

"Avril?"

Aaron's voice makes them jump apart like two teenagers caught red-handed. Vilkas's razor-sharp glare finds the Silver Hand sitting up in his bed, and the man flinches away from the gaze. He looks questioningly to Avril.

"Aaron," she squeaks. "This is Vil-" she cuts herself off and improvises, "Vilmar. He's an old hunting friend from Falkreath. He showed up outside, looking for shelter from the snow. He's on his way to Winterhold."

Vilkas lifts a brow and glances at Avril, then it dawns on him. The Silver Hand know the Companions probably better than the Companions know the Silver Hand. Vilkas could maybe name one or two significant leaders within the Silver Hand ranks; Avril and Aaron could probably name the entire Circle. His name would be known to Aaron.

Aaron looks Vilkas over suspiciously, then nods and shrugs a bit. "Right, then. Is it still dark out?"

Avril nods, and Aaron stretches languidly before settling back into the fur blankets on his bed. "Good. I'm going back to sleep. Wake me when the sun's up."

Vilkas figures the suspicious glance was less out of the prospect that Avril could be cavorting with a Companion and more wondering how many "hunting friends" she has. He knows that Aaron is going to assume they are lovers. Vilkas does not mind this.

They glance at each other awkwardly, the moment broken, and settle in front of the fire with a little more room for Talos between them. Vilkas mentally curses that damned Silver Hand for interrupting them and now causing Avril to sit farther away, but he knows it is probably for the best. They were just caught in a moment. She probably would have regretted whatever almost happened, blamed it on the cold and her head wound, and they would have forgotten about it.

Well, _she_ would have forgotten about it. Vilkas still simmers with the feel of her slight frame sitting atop his lap, of how she glanced over his lips and her own quirked into that tantalizing smile, how he was so close to finally knowing what those succulent lips of hers taste like.

_How it would feel for her to bite his lip if he let her. Oh, gods, would he let her.._

He can't help wondering if that electricity is still dancing across her skin like it is on his. He wonders if she feels the heat, the longing, the _need._

Because he does need her. She's going to be the one that ruins everyone else for him.

She's going to be the one.

Looking at her features reflect the flickering firelight, he just knows it.


	9. Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Avril and Vilkas get horrifying news upon their return to their respective factions, Avril's loyalty and Vilkas's love are put to the test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fair part of this was written on my phone (because I woke up the morning after I posted chapter 8 and needed more) so if there's any spelling errors or grammatical errors I missed, forgive me. I read it over about ten times before I ever post it so the mistakes shouldn't be too bad.

 Neither Avril nor Vilkas got any sleep that night. They spoke quietly in the dim firelight, of everything and nothing, until finally Vilkas knew he had a question he needed to ask.

"Avril," he begins slowly, unsure how to ask carefully so he just spits it out, "I have a favor to ask. The next step toward the cure involves placing Wuuthrad in the hands of a statue of Ysgramor. We need the fragments."

Avril processes this for a moment, taken aback slightly by his straightforwardness, but to Vilkas's surprise, she nods. "Alright. If it's the key to the cure, I can do that. We don't keep them locked away or anything. They're on a table in the deepest room in Driftshade. No one is ever down there. It'll be easy to get them."

Avril gives a wry smile and shrugs. "Besides, I already have one in my room."

Vilkas lifts a brow. "In your room?"

"The one from my Proving. I kept it for myself. It's in my end table."

Vilkas laughs at that. "Something to remember me by? How thoughtful."

Avril's cheeks flush red and she mutters, "I don't need a shard to remember you."

Vilkas is sure he wasn't meant to hear that, but his superior ears picked it up, and it makes him grin like a fool.

Vilkas looks over to where Aaron snores loudly on his bed, his face smashed into the pillow and his butt jutted up in the air.

"Shouldn't we wake up sleeping beauty over there?" he asks, smiling wryly.

Avril shrugs. "Nah, he has beauty sleep to catch up on."

They both laugh at that, and Aaron grumbles something in his sleep and wiggles his butt, then goes back to snoring. They laugh even harder.

Avril's laughter turns to groans of pain, and she clutches a hand to her stomach and grimaces. Vilkas picks up on her discomfort immediately and wraps an arm around her, looking her over quickly.

"Are you alright? Where does it hurt?"

She frowns and removes her hand, revealing a trickling of blood seeping through her cotton tunic. She lifts the fabric slightly, revealing the tan skin beneath. It's riddled with bruises and minor cuts, most of which have re-opened and begun bleeding slowly.

Vilkas swears under his breath and jumps to his feet, heading into the bedroom to look for bandaging. He finds the linen wraps and returns to Avril's side, his face determined. He immediately reaches for her, mind focused on his task.

When she flinches away from him defensively, he realizes what he was about to do.

He looks abashed. "I need to, um.." he gestures to her stomach, then scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. "I need to bandage those cuts. You'll have to lift up your shirt."

Avril frowns deeply, and Vilkas feels his heart sink. Seeing her face twist at the suggestion of having to bare her upper body to him, even obscured modestly by her breast bindings, makes Vilkas's chest tighten unpleasantly for a thousand reasons. The main one being he would give anything to tear her clothes off and take her right there, but knowing how disgusted she must be by him, it's obvious that's something he'll never get to experience. He doesn't just want to fuck her. He wants to make love to her, to make her feel like the single most precious thing in the world.

And he can't do that if she reacts this way just at the idea of having to take her shirt off in front of him.

She hesitantly complies, lifting her tunic over her head and folding it neatly across her lap. Vilkas's breath hitches at the sight of her mostly bare torso. Despite her severe bruising and the various small wounds, she's still a breath-taking sight. What he would give to smooth his rough palms over the delicate, dark flesh of her stomach, to squeeze her sides and make her gasp, then travel around back and farther south...

Vilkas coughs uncomfortably and perishes the thoughts from his mind. Dwelling on what he can't have isn't going to make this any easier. He pulls a foot's length from the linen roll and carefully begins wrapping her wounds, his calloused hands being uncharacteristically gentle with this precious woman. When he's sufficiently bound up her wounds, her face scrunching every now and then with discomfort, he ties off the end and helps her redress.

Avril smiles graciously at him, folding her arms over her stomach and sitting cross-legged across from him. He wants to reach for her, to hold her and run his fingers through her hair, but he knows she would probably pull away, or worse. The thought depresses him, and his mood turns dark. She says nothing.

"Well," says Vilkas with an uncomfortable cough, "I need to continue on to Winterhold if I'm going to get that job done. Thank you for having me here."

Something flashes across Avril's eyes, something he tries not to think too much of. Sadness. Reluctance. Regret.

She nods and stands with him, leading him to the door. Before he leaves, she reaches up on her toes and wraps her arms around his neck, hugging him gently. He hugs her back, resisting to urge to squeeze her with all of the force of his affection for her, and it's over too soon, leaving his skin cold from her absence.

"Don't get lost," Avril says with a smile.

"I'll try," he promises, then walks out into the cold.

~~ \-------------------- ~~

The room feels empty without Vilkas there. Cold and empty.

Avril saw the hurt look on his face when she flinched away from him before. She can't imagine what he must think, but it just caught her off guard. If there is anyone in the world she could see herself getting naked for, it would definitely be him. Her uncle's violation has left her feeling disgusting and uncomfortable in her own skin, and Avril can't imagine how she's ever going to get to a point where she won't flinch away from a man's touch, but for Vilkas, she would try.

That is, if he ever touches her again.

By the look on his face, it's likely that will never happen, and the thought makes her heart sink.

_"You love him, don't you?"_

Jon's words echo through her mind. She doesn't know when her heart decided that it loves him, but it does. It really, _really_ does.

Avril's cheeks grow warm when she thinks about the moment they shared the night before, when he pulled her into his lap and touched her cheek and rubbed her back and...

 _Gods be damned, Aaron,_ she thinks bitterly, glancing over to where he snores loudly in his sleep. She had almost done it. She'd almost discovered if those lips of his are as delectable as they look.

Avril has often wonders about Vilkas, about how fond she's grown of him in such a short time. It's shocking, how he got right under her skin and turned her world upside down. It isn't just his looks -though those have a big hand in it, hot damn- but _him._  His laugh, his voice, the stubble on his cheeks and chin, the feel of his skin against hers, the thought of those tantalizing lips and tangling her lithe fingers in his hair. What has he done to her?

Just then, Aaron stirs, pulling Avril from her reverie. He mumbles something inaudible and slowly drags himself from the bed, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He quickly notices Vilkas's absence.

"'Ey, where's your friend?" he asks.

Avril frowns a bit. "He had to go. I told you, he was on his way to Winterhold."

"Right, right. Well, do you need to be getting back to Driftshade, then?"

His question throws her off. "Aren't you coming with me?"

It's Aaron's turn to frown this time, his face darkening. "I'm afraid not."

"Why not?" Avril quirks a brow.

"Because I'm not welcome there anymore," is all he says before he busies himself tidying up some more of the abstract items cast about the room. Avril notes that making himself busy seems to be his defense mechanism of choice.

"Why aren't you welcome there? It's your home. It's _our_ home," she says insistently, her eyes wide. "What happened?"

Aaron seems to fight with himself for several heartbeats, then decides on something and turns to face her, his eyes alight. "I fell in love with your brother, that's what."

Avril stares at him dumbly, unsure what to say. "I-"

He holds up a hand to silence her, shaking his head. "I know he never told you. He never told anyone. He didn't want to deal with the shame, I suppose."

Avril immediately stands and walks right up to him and puts her hands on his shoulders, looking at him intensely. "Do _not_ say that. I am so stupid. I should have seen this."

She shakes her head, scoffing at herself. Aaron lifts a brow. "You-what?"

Avril smiles softly. "My god, Aaron. You think Jon is ashamed of you? Are you that ridiculous? He's protecting you. You have to come back with me. Jon would be devastated if you never came back."

Aaron pulls himself from her grasp and turns his back to her, shaking his head quickly. "No, no. Let him come find me, if I'm that important to him. Throughout our entire relationship, he has made the decisions, he has pulled the weight. I've tried for so long to get him to tell his father, or at least _you,_ but every time he tried, nothing. He never could. How can that be anything but shame?"

This time, Avril outright laughs. "Damn, so that's what he's been trying to tell me?" She sighs. "You are such a fool. You both are."

With that, she turns and gathers her travel gear and her bow, Aaron watching dumbly. When she's all set, she heads for the door and walks right on out, without a word, leaving Aaron standing there like an idiot.

 

When Avril steps through the doors of Driftshade, she's met with complete silence.

No one's here?

She carefully walks through the refuge, looking from room to room, but everyone's gone save for Ornjolf and some other non-fighting types. When she asks where everyone is, no one has an answer for her.

As if on cue, the front doors burst open and in rushes a crowd of Silver Hand, all exuberant and cheering boasts of victory. Garrett leads the party, a wide grin on his face.

They're all covered in blood.

Avril's stomach drops to her ankles, and she slowly approaches her father, looking frantically at each of the excited warriors. "Wha-what happened? What did you do?"

Garrett claps a hand on his daughter's shoulder and says with the utmost pride, "We took the fight to the Companions!"

Avril gapes at him, horrified. "You.. you _what?"_

He ignores her and leads the troops in the general direction of the tavern. Avril stands there as each warrior shoves by her, lost in the haze of their victory. When the foyer has emptied of everyone but herself, she drops to her knees on the stone and clutches her stomach, choking down the strangled sobs that bubble up in her throat.

_"We took the fight to the Companions!"_

"Vilkas," she squeaks under her breath, hunching over to put her forehead against the cold stone.

_What is he going to go home to?_

~~ \-------------------- ~~

When Vilkas turns the corner into the Wind District of Whiterun, the sight before him is the last thing he could have expected.

The stairs leading up to Jorvaskrr are littered with the corpses of fur-clad warriors, each with a silver weapon of some kind laying nearby. Aela and Athis stand on the stairs, weapons drawn and faces grim. When Vilkas approaches, Athis is the first to speak.

"The Silver Hand. They finally got up the nerve to attack Jorvaskrr. You should probably head inside."

Vilkas looks over at Aela, whose face is streaked with tears. She simply points to the corpse at her feet and says, "This one won't be a problem anymore."

Vilkas hurries up the stairs and bursts through the doors of the mead hall. Inside, several Companions are crowded around something that Vilkas can't see.

He shoves his way through the people, every face casting him mournful glances. He ignores them, pushing to the front of the crowd.

What he sees makes him fall to his knees.

"No," he whispers, his face crumpling as grief like he's never felt before washes over him.

Kodlak lays there, a deep gash across the gut of his armor. The blood caked on his steel wolf armor has dried into black crust.

Farkas crouches near Kodlak, a hand on the old man's chest and his face moist with tears. Vilkas looks at his brother through watery eyes, the deep lines of stress adding years to Farkas's face.

"Farkas," he chokes, furrowing his brows. Farkas nods, understanding, and lowers his face.

Someone touches Vilkas's shoulder, but he smacks the hand away. He regrets it instantly when he looks up at Aela's hurt expression, but he just stands and shoves back through the people gathered, face hot with tears and rage. He slams through the doors and feels the cold air wash over his face, the moonlight cast in the late evening sky washing over him and calling out to him.

Then he storms out of Whiterun, and doesn't stop walking until he's deep in the pine forest...

...and he shifts.

The beast blood hums in his veins, the cold Skyrim air biting against his fur, but it feels heavenly. He doesn't know where he's going, but he runs and runs and runs. He runs until his feet find snow. He runs until the limbs of trees whipping by are leaving sharp cuts in his flesh. He runs.

But he can't outrun this pain.

He can't outrun this grief.

When his father, Jergen, disappeared, Vilkas didn't feel pain like this. He didn't feel much of anything. He didn't even feel abandoned, because he had Kodlak. He didn't feel unwanted, or unloved, or fatherless. He had Kodlak.

Losing Kodlak... he can't even think about it, the knife that drives through his chest is too much. This is what losing a father feels like. This is what losing Jergen was supposed to feel like.

This is what Vilkas cheated all those years ago when Jergen left him and he felt nothing. This is what grief is.

Skjor's death was a terrible loss, but it didn't feel like _this._ Vilkas mourned Skjor as a fallen brother, but he didn't grieve for him. He didn't cry. He didn't lose his mind.

He didn't feel like _this._

 _This_ is grief.

Gods be damned, it hurts.

~~\--------------------~~

Jon sits on the stone floor, his head tilted back as a deep sigh escapes his lips.

Gaven taps his metal plate rhythmically against the bars of his cell, the same thing he's been doing since early that morning when he was served his breakfast.

"Will you knock that off?" Jon snaps. "You're driving me insane."

Gaven shrugs and tosses the plate at Jon through the bars. It rolls by him harmlessly and clatters against the wall.

Jon narrows his eyes at his uncle and shakes his head. "Seeing your head roll off the chopping block is going to be the best day of my life."

Gaven spits at Jon's feet. He misses. "It's not nice to wish death upon your uncle, boy."

"You're no blood of mine, filth. You never were."

"That's not true. I used to be your idol. You used to look up to me like a god." Gaven grins wryly, a mouth full of crooked teeth showing in the dim light.

"That was before I knew what you did to my mother and my sister. You're a worthless bastard. That's all you ever were."

Gaven shrugs. "Only the gods can judge me now, boy."

"And I'm sure they will."

Someone opens the heavy door and Jon recognizes the face instantly.

"Aaron!" he says, jumping to his feet and rushing over to the door. He puts one hand on Aaron's chest and pushes him back into the outer chamber, closing the dungeon door behind him, then spins Aaron around and shoves him against the wall. Their mouths meet in a crushing embrace, their strong arms wrapping around each other and pulling themselves impossibly closer. There's going to be bruises on each of their backs later.

When they come up for air, Jon clutches the sides of Aaron's face and stares at him in disbelief. "Aaron. Damn it, Aaron. How could.. everything you wrote.. gods, why didn't you tell me?"

Aaron's eyes go wide. "I wrote... you read my journal?"

Jon nods, jerking his chin toward the dungeon door. "That's why assface is in there. I went into your room looking for you and I saw the journal. You were right. He raped Avril. If not for you, we never would have known."

A million things flash across Aaron's face, but he finally says, "So Gaven is going to pay for what he did? And Avril is okay?"

Jon's easy smile fades. "Yes, Gaven is going to pay, but I don't know if Avril will ever be okay. Speaking of which, have you seen her since you've been back? She ran off. I don't know where she is."

Aaron says, "I found her out at Frostflow Lighthouse. Well, she found me. We holed up there until the storm passed. Us and some friend of hers."

Jon perks up at that. "Friend of hers?"

"Yeah, some big Nord names Vilmas."

Jon snorts and grins stupidly. "You don't say."

Aaron shrugs and says, "If you want to see her, she's in her room. She looked pretty upset. I guess she has a right to be."

Jon drops his arms and says, "I need to go see her. But we're not finished here, alright?"

Aaron nods, and Jon leaves in a rush, heading for Avril's room.

When he knocks gingerly on the door and peeks inside, he finds her curled up on her bed with her forehead on her knees, her shoulders shaking.

"Avril?"

She looks up at him, and his heart clenches. Her face is soaked with tears, her eyes red and puffy. Somehow, she still manages to smile.

"Is Aaron back yet?' she asks. Jon nods, and her smile grows a bit. "He told me about you two, you know. I can't believe you never told me. You'll be making that up to me for some time."

Jon grins a bit, but it doesn't meet his eyes. Avril's smile drops.

"I don't know where you've been, but I'm assuming you don't know what's happened."

Jon lifts a brow. "I've been out looking for you and Aaron."

Avril shrugs. "Here I am. While you were gone, Father led the Silver Hand to Whiterun and attacked Jorvaskrr. I don't know if..."

Her voice breaks and she closes her eyes, her face crumpling and fresh tears sliding down her red cheeks. Jon places himself beside her and wraps an arm around her. She leans against his chest and sobs.

Jon rubs her back soothingly. "I heard about your friend, Vilmas." She doesn't react. "So at least you know he's okay."

"He won't be for long, when he goes home to whatever destruction we caused. I've heard we lost a lot of people, but everyone is still celebrating. That can't be a good thing."

Jon nods, understanding. "You should go to Whiterun, sister."

Avril freezes, pulling back to look up at her brother. "I can't. I am the last person Vilkas is going to want to see. And I am not welcome anywhere near Jorvaskrr."

Jon shakes his head. "You are probably the only person Vilkas will see, sister. You don't think so, but I do. And truth be told, if you went to Jorvaskrr with Vilkas by your side, I'm sure no one would touch you. He's like your own personal guard dog."

Avril frowns, leaning against him again. "You're wrong about him, about us. It isn't like that. He could never feel any of that for me. Not after everything."

"I think you're wrong."

Avril shrugs. They fall silent for several minutes.

The silence is broken when Avril suddenly lets out a snorting chuckle. "So," she begins, looking up at him with a dorky grin, "is Aaron a good kisser?"

Jon throws his head back and laughs, grinning from ear to ear. "Yes, yes he is. Paws off, he's mine."

Avril throws her hands up in surrender. "All yours, big brother. I like the idea of Aaron as a brother-in-law better than a stolen lover."

Jon smiles. "Good."

~~\--------------------~~

Avril steps onto the Whiterun drawbridge noon the next day. She takes a deep breath to steady herself, then approaches the gates.

The guard gives her a nod and a welcoming smile as he opens the gates for her, and she awkwardly scurries passed him. The city is bigger than she expected. Avril crosses a small bridge just inside the gates. A dark-skinned woman is working a forge nearby. Two Redguard men dressed in odd-looking headwraps and garb argue with a guard about needing to search for some missing woman. A man in Imperial armor approaches the woman blacksmith and tells her he needs her to fill a massive order for the Imperial army, and she refutes him and irritably tells him to suck up his pride and go talk to Eorlund Greymane.

Heading in the direction that the woman angrily pointed when she mentioned the Skyforge smith, Avril searches for the great Jorvaskrr mead hall.

Though she's only donned in regular hide armor with Adrie across her back, she feels like a brand is burned across her forehead that reads "Silver Hand" as she approaches the magnificent hall of the Companions. It really is something to see. Though the sight is glorious, with the statue of Talos and the Gildergreen in the background, Avril feels her stomach twist into knots as she climbs the steps. The stone is stained in places where someone tried and mostly failed to wash away heavy pools of blood.

Whether it's of her kin or of the Companions, she has no way to know.

Like an idiot, she almost knocks on the door. Then, mustering as much confidence as she can and squaring her shoulders, she opens the door and steps into the hall.

Every head in the room turns to look at her.

She gulps.

She closes the door behind her and steps farther into the room, and an auburn-haired woman in very revealing armor approaches her.

"Can we help you?" she says suspiciously.

Avril wrings her fingers together. "I-ah, I'm looking for Vilkas."

The woman lifts a brow and looks her over, obviously calculating the possible threat she poses. At last, she shrugs, probably deducing that Avril would be no match for Vilkas if it came to that, and nods. "He's in his room downstairs. This way."

She leads Avril to the far side of the hall and down a flight of stairs. The empty mounting on the wall doesn't escape Avril's notice. She immediately recognizes it as Wuuthrad's display setting, and her stomach clenches slightly, her hand moving to a pouch on her hip.

The lower hall is not nearly as bright as the upper, but it is rather active. Avril meets the eyes of a dark elf, an Imperial, and several Nords before she's lead into a side corridor. They stand outside the door, and with a final nod, the auburn-haired woman leaves her. Avril watches her go, admiring the confidant sway of her hips and the long stride in her gait. It's not often Avril finds a woman who is powerful and feminine at the same time. It's impressive.

Avril tentatively knocks on the door, and hears shuffling from inside.

Seconds later, the door opens and she's looking up into the stricken face of Vilkas. He scowls at her, but steps out of the way and gestures for her to enter.

"What are you doing here?" he asks warily, watching her every move, his eyes intense and solemn.

"I.." she begins, but her words escape her. What _is_ she doing here? "I heard there was an attack on Jorvaskrr. The war party returned to Driftshade right after I did. I came to see if everyone was alright."

When he doesn't answer, she continues awkwardly. "We lost a fair amount of people, from what I've heard, but no one mentioned if there were any Companions lost. Everyone was celebrating, so I assume..."

"That we lost someone," he says finally, his face grim. "Yes, we did."

Avril waits expectantly, but he doesn't seem willing to offer up anything more, so she settles for examining the contents of his room. It's sparsely decorated, more like a room one would rent in a tavern. No pictures, two or three books, a wardrobe. Ale and mead bottles displayed here and there. A bed with ruffled fur blankets. As bare as it could really be, unlike Avril's vibrantly decorated stone room in Driftshade. She hoards pretty and interesting things and displays them as extravagantly as she can.

When she's satisfied, she turns toward Vilkas to notice he's placed himself on the edge of his bed, his elbows on his knees and his fingers steepled in front of his lips. His face is dark and full of hurt. Avril hesitantly steps forward and reaches for him, and much to her surprise, he doesn't flinch away. She brushes her fingers over his cheek, beneath his chin, feeling the stubble and inhaling softly his intoxicating, masculine scent. She tilts his head up gently, and his silver eyes meet hers.

"Who was lost, Vilkas?" she asks softly, her eyes sad and sincere.

"Kodlak," he says, his voice choked and broken. "We lost Kodlak. He took a sword to the gut."

Avril's face goes white and she drops her hand in shock. "No," she whispers.

Vilkas nods, frowning deeply. They stay silent for several heartbeats, then Avril sits beside Vilkas on the bed and leans against him, her head on his shoulder. He tilts his head and rests it against hers, closing his eyes contently.

"I'm sorry you lost warriors, too," he says quietly.

Avril shakes her head gently. "No, don't apologize. There will always be more Silver Hand. There'll never be another Kodlak."

Vilkas nods in agreement, and they fall silent again. The comfort of each other's presence is like a drug. They could sit there in silence for hours, perfectly content just to be near one another.

Just then, Avril reaches over and touches Vilkas's hand. He looks down at her, and her face is hopeful.

"I have something for you," she says, reaching her other hand to a pouch on her hip. She pulls it from her belt and offers it to him.

Vilkas gives her a questioning look, and she just nudges it toward him. He takes it and opens it, dipping his fingers inside to pull out one of the items contained within.

It's a fragment of Wuuthrad. Vilkas's eyebrows shoot up, and he realizes the pouch is full of them. All of them.

"They're all here," he says, astonished. He looks at her, and she smiles softly.

"Not all," she says, reaching down to pull something out of her pocket. The fragment she kept for herself. She drops it into the pouch, then takes the one he is holding and drops it in as well. She pulls the draw string closed, then rests her head back on his shoulder.

Vilkas clutches the pouch in his hand, amazed. "You did it."

"I did."

"For us."

"For you."

The words slip out before she can stop them, and she bites her lip nervously. Vilkas looks down at her, surprised.

"For me?"

Avril shrugs. "For the cure."

Vilkas accepts that. He seems to remember something, and surprises Avril when he stands and approaches his door.

"I'll be right back," he says. He weighs something in his mind a moment, then boldly steps forward and bends over to plant a soft kiss on Avril's forehead. Her skin tingles with the heat of his touch. She looks up at him, stunned.

"Okay," she says dumbly, watching as he turns and leaves the room. Minutes later, he returns, clutching something in his hand.

"The actual last fragment. I forgot the old man kept one for himself in his room, so Jorvaskrr would always have at least one shard at all times."

Avril watches as he drops it into the pouch and fastens it on his belt. A smile creeps over his face, one that makes her heart flutter.

"I think it's time," he says. She lifts a brow.

"Time for what?"

His eyes shine with pride and excitement.

"It's time to cure the Companions."


	10. Ascent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last stand between the Silver Hand and the Companions as they race it out to see who will make it to the Tomb of Ysgramor first.
> 
> Avril's loyalty is put to the ultimate test. Who will she defend? Who will she fight?
> 
> This is it, guys. The epic finale. I hope you enjoy :)

Garrett leans over the war table, his elbows acting as paperweights to hold down the map sprawled in front of him, his fingers curled into his hair.

Dark circles shade his eyes, and the lines of stress stand prominently on his brow. This is it.

_This is it._

The reports are right here. Everything is here. The Companions are going to march to Ysgramor's Tomb.

And the Silver Hand will be there first.

"This is it," he breathes.

A knock on the door draws his attention from the stratagem. "Enter," he says.

Someone steps into the room and closes the door behind them. "Father?" Jon's voice says hesitantly.

Garrett turns and smiles tiredly at his son. "Yes, Jon, what can I do for you?"

"He's ready."

Garrett's smile falls and the world comes slamming back to him. "Very well. Take him up. I'll be right there."

Jon nods and hurries from the room, his face grim.

Garrett closes his eyes and turns back to the table, smoothing his palms on the map.

A heavy sigh escapes him, and he shakes his head, squeezing his eyes tighter. "This is it."

He straightens up, squares his shoulders, and turns to attend his brother's execution.

~~\--------------------~~

Jon steps out into the snow, one hand on his uncle's back and the other clutching the bindings on the surly man's wrists, guiding him forward.

A makeshift gallows has been constructed atop the Driftshade refuge. It isn't big, it isn't complex, it isn't impressive.

But Jon can still feel Gaven shudder when his gaze falls upon it.

Jon's own reactions is equally as unsettling. He's only ever witnessed one execution; a man named Roggvir was beheaded upon Jon's first visit to Solitude some months past. It was a gruesome sight. He could hear the crunch as the headsman's axe cut through bone and sinew, and the thud as the gate guard's head fell from the blood.

Nothing stuck with him like the cries of Roggvir's sister as she hurried onto the platform and clutched the man's blood-stained amulet of Talos to her chest. The Imperial lieutenant ripped it from her hands and shoved her to the ground. No one did anything. No one made a sound. The crowd dispersed and everyone went back to their lives as if nothing had happened.

Though the thought both sickens and pleases him, Jon knows that no one is going to cry for Gaven. No one is going to do anything, or make a sound. The crowd will disperse. Everyone will go back to their lives.

Nothing spectacular is happening here. A rapist is being put to death. That's it.

So what is that pit forming in Jon's stomach?

Garrett emerges from the refuge and climbs the ramparts to the gallows. Jon makes it to the top and pushes Gaven to his knees before the chopping block. A greataxe has been sharpened for the occasion. It lays on the wooden platform beside the block, gleaming in the sunlight. A thin layer of snow has dusted over the wooden structure, but the current snowfall is light and doesn't hinder anyone's eyesight.

It's a perfect day for an execution.

Garrett relieves Jon's position, who slinks back to the crowd below and places himself at Aaron's side. Aaron slips his hand into Jon's, and the cluster of people is so densely packed that no one notices.

Garrett picks up the axe and casts a moment's mournful glance at his wayward brother. The briefest hint of regret flashes in both of their eyes, but each brother turns his gaze to steel.

_"There are no illusions of brotherly kinship this time, brother."_

Garrett's words flicker through his mind, sending a bitter chill through his body as he shifts the weight of the axe in his hands. He positions himself in a firm stance, lifts the axe over his head, and takes a deep breath.

Slice. Crunch. Thud.

Everything is silent. Everyone is silent. The world stands silent.

Garrett looks down at his brother's beheaded corpse. His brother's blood spilling over the chopping block, dripping off the axe in his hands. He feels no sorrow. He feels no remorse.

He feels his wife's tears dripping down his shoulder when she came to him crying. He sees the rage in his son's face when he discovered what his brother did to his daughter. He sees the blood dripping off the chopping block, and the off the axe in his hands, and he feels nothing...

..but pity.

"Brotherly kinship, indeed," he mutters as he throws the axe down and walks away.

~~\--------------------~~

There are very few times in Avril's life when she's felt true fear.

Looking around the Underforge into the faces of each member of the Circle... that is all she feels.

"Brother," Vilkas says, looking at Farkas, then to Aela and Ria. "Sisters. I've brought you here for a reason."

"I damned well hope so," Ria says boldly, eyeing Avril with distrust. "You gonna tell us who your little friend here is?"

Vilkas's face is unchanged, but he casts a sidelong glance to Avril before looking back at the others. "Her name is Avril, and she has brought us a gift."

Vilkas takes the pouch from his hip and tosses it to Aela, who catches it with ease despite her surprise. She lifts a brow and opens it, pulling out one of the shards.

Her eyes widen and she looks from Ria to Vilkas to Avril. "What is this?"

"All of the fragments of Wuuthrad, every one. This is what we need to get into Ysgramor's Tomb. The entrance is guarded by a statue of Ysgramor. To gain access to the inner sanctum, you have to return Wuuthrad to Ysgramor," Vilkas explains, his eyes alight as he examines each face in the room.

"But Wuuthrad is in pieces," Ria protests.

Vilkas shakes his head. "I've spoken to Eorlund. Now that we have all of the pieces, he thinks he can forge Wuuthrad back together so we can access the tomb."

Ria falls silent, but Aela is still suspicious. "You never told us who _she_ is," she says, jerking her chin toward Avril.

Avril sees Vilkas's face change slightly, his preparation to introduce her, but Avril beats him to it, stepping forward boldly.

"I am Avril of Driftshade, daughter to High Chief Garrett of the Silver Hand."

The room comes alive with the iron clangs of Ria's and Aela's swords being drawn. Vilkas protectively shields Avril from them, stepping between the Circle members and the Silver Hand girl, but his eyes are confused and quizzical even in his defense.

"Daughter to _who?"_ he snaps, turning his head to look at her over his shoulder.

Avril gulps a bit, but stands fast. "I didn't stutter."

Aela and Ria are all but snarling at her.

"You brought a Silver Hand whore here?" Ria growls, eyes hot on Vilkas.

Vilkas narrows his eyes at her, his gaze a threat that leaves no room for challenge. "One more word, Ria," he warns.

Aela speaks up, "She's right, Vilkas. Why would you bring a Silver Hand here, _here_ , of all places?"

"I trust her," Vilkas says with no room for doubt. Avril can't help the warmth that wells up in her chest, the smile that twitches at her lips.

"Are you sure?" Aela urges, her eyes more concerned than angry. Ria is a little ball of fury.

"I _trust_ her," he assures, reaching behind him to search for Avril's hand. She gingerly slips her fingers between his and gives his hand a light squeeze. The gesture isn't missed by anyone in the room.

Aela contemplates this for several heartbeats, then nods and sheaths her sword, prompting Ria to do the same. She reluctantly follows suit.

"Very well. I assume she's the one who brought us the fragments?" Aela says, holding up the pouch.

Vilkas nods. "She is."

"Ria," Aela says, looking to her, "take these up to Eorlund and tell him it's time." To everyone, she says, "We leave for the tomb tomorrow, first light."

Ria nods and takes the pouch, heading out of the Underforge.

"Are you with us?" Aela asks, looking to Avril.

Avril nods, stepping out from behind Vilkas. "I'm with you."

Aela smiles a bit, and holds out her arm. Avril grips the huntress's forearm firmly, and they share a meaningful look before breaking contact. With one last glance to Vilkas, Aela turns and leaves them alone in the warm, stone alcove.

Vilkas turns to Avril, taking her other hand now as well. "You should have told me."

"I know," she says, smiling softly. "But did you see that?"

Vilkas lifts a brow. "What, your little bonding moment with Aela?"

"I feel like family," Avril grins.

Vilkas chuckles. "I suppose. She must see something in you. She's not a very warm person."

"I kind of figured that," Avril smiles. The warmth of their interlocked hands is resonating through her body, making her heart flutter. Her nervousness must show in her eyes.

Vilkas releases one of her hands and raises his hand to her face, brushing a stray lock of inky black hair to the side. His expression is soft and tender.

Avril's breath catches, and despite herself, she allows herself a moment of relish. But something holds her back, something deep and unsettled that draws her into herself and tells her to think about what she's doing, who she is.

With her addled thoughts, she flinches away and lowers her eyes. Vilkas's face sparks with surprise, but then settles into a dark understanding. He turns from her and stalks toward the door.

"Don't be late in the morning, or we'll leave without you," he says without turning around, and the rock door slides shut behind him.

 

The morning comes quicker than Avril would have liked. Her jumbled thoughts left her restless, and the dark circles under her eyes are the testament. She crawls out of her bed in the Bannered Mare and strides through the doors that open up to a balcony that overlooks the quiet tavern below.

The bard, Mikael, strums his lute by the fire. Revelers from the night before snore on the benches, tankards either discarded nearby or still clutched in their sleep-enthralled hands. Hulda wipes the bar with a dish towel, and a man in a black robe sips his mead on one of the stools. Avril pays him little interest, despite his odd appearance.

She ducks back into the room to change into her travel gear and equip her weapons; Adrie on her back, a dagger in each boot, a sword at her hip. Before she heads to Jorvaskrr, she stops by the Drunken Huntsman to restock her arrows.

When she reaches the top of the steps leading into the Wind District, she sees a cluster of heavily armed Companions standing before their grand mead hall. As Avril draws near, the Circle turns to greet her.

"Avril," says Aela, smiling wolfishly. "Ready to march?"

Avril nods, smiling to each welcoming face with a flooding sense of warmth. That is, until she meets Vilkas's face.

He looks rather sour, most likely because of her reaction to his caress in the Underforge, but she can't do anything about that now. She gives him a gruff nod, and he returns it in kind, his expression unchanged.

The Circle lets out their war cries and everyone draws their weapons in unison, then the pack sets out for Ysgramor's Tomb, the little Silver Hand girl cheering along with their boasts and licking up the excitement of running with wolves.

~~\--------------------~~

Garrett shivers in the cold, the harsh northern winds biting through his fur armor. Torches speckle the crowd before him with spots of glowing light in the heavy-falling snow, and Garrett observes the entirety of his Silver Hand warriors with the utmost pride and determination.

"Silver Hand!" he shouts over the howling winds, cupping his hands around his mouth for amplification. "This is it! Today, we _march_ on Ysgramor's Tomb, and rid Skyrim of the plague we've fought against for so long now! Do you stand with me?"

A massive symphony of battle cries echo throughout the mountains, the commotion of the warriors banging their shields making snow stir from the trees and adding to the intensity of their bellows.

The sound of crunching snow turns Garrett's head to the side. Jon joins him atop the ramparts.

"I've got the reports, Father. It's true. She's traveling with the Companions to the tomb," Jon says, his eyes dark, holding out a handful of handwritten reports that snap sharply against in the wind.

Garrett lifts a hand to decline the papers. "I don't need to see them," he says plainly, letting out a weighted sigh. "Damn it, Avril, what are you doing?"

Jon says nothing. After a moment, he turns and descends the structure, tucking the reports into his fur-lined coat.

Inside Driftshade, he can still hear the whoops and bellows from the soldiers. Jon shakes the snow out of the fur on his armor and out of his hair, then stalks deeper into the fort. It's mostly empty except for Ornjolf, who can plainly be heard loudly scrubbing pots in his kitchen, and Orvar, who must be banging on something at his forge. Jon pays them no mind. Their work is the background noise of every day and night in Driftshade.

When Jon reaches the chamber where the Silver Hand kept the shards of Wuuthrad, he gazes at the bare table with a mix of emotions. Regret may be the most prominent.

_"You love him, don't you?"_

His own words that he said in this very place. Whether or not he had been joking, Jo honestly doesn't know, but somehow he knows that he must have been right. Avril is in love with one of the Companions, and that is why she's helping them find the cure. She wants to be with him. And she will go to any length to do it.

Oddly enough, he admires that about her.

The image of Aaron's face fills his mind, full of laughter and joy and love, followed darkly by the painful image of his face filled with uncertainty and hurt every time Jon admitted that he failed to tell his father about their relationship. Jon can't even imagine what he put the love of his life through, and thinking on it now, he wonders what Avril has been through.

The group of hunters that had been slaughtered weren't the only lives lost. One of the Circle members was killed as well, from what Jon has heard. Was Avril grieving for her own lost comrades... or Vilkas's? She had set out to stop the ambush, and arrived to find a graveyard of her own people, but no Companions. Had she been pleased? Did she go to Whiterun to make sure everyone was okay? Did she go to Vilkas?

Thinking on it now, Jon wonders what Avril felt when she discovered Kodlak Whitemane's death. That's where she went after she spoke with Jon, it must be. He wonders if she had any trouble getting into Whiterun, or even into Jorvaskrr. He wonders if the Companions accepted her, but the thought shifts into wondering if they shunned her before they accepted her, because her traveling with them now is proof she's welcome. Maybe she's there only for Vilkas's sake. Maybe the rest want her dead. Maybe she's in danger, and Vilkas is the only thing standing between her and the jaws of a group of wild dogs.

Jon nearly kicks himself for these thoughts. He's being stupid. Of course he is. This is stupid.

Despite himself, despite all of his teachings, his mind wonders... what is he going to do? Can he stay here while the Silver Hand go off to war? Jon knows his sister well enough to know that if this is the path she has chosen, if she's chosen Vilkas, she won't hesitate to fight with him. Can he go off to war against his sister? What if she dies? What if Garrett kills her? What if Jon himself has to kill her? What if the Silver Hand slaughter all of the wolves, kill _Vilkas,_ and then Garrett demands they drag Avril back home kicking and screaming?

What if Avril and the Circle kill all of the Silver Hand?

What if Avril kills Garrett?

Could Avril kill Jon?

Jon buries his face in his hands and lets out a deeply infuriated growl. Then he straightens up, draws his sword, and stalks out of Driftshade, with the full knowledge of what he has to do.

~~ \-------------------- ~~

The Companions and Avril near the edge of the ice fields, and Avril shivers in her fur armor.

"Must be nice never getting cold," she grumbles, trudging through the knee-high snow.

Aela grins. "It is, actually."

As they traverse the ice fields, a deserved name for this landscape, their destination soon comes into view.

And, much to Avril's horror, a fully armed group of Silver Hand stands in their path.

Garrett stands at the forefront, his eyes trained on one thing and one thing only.

Avril gulps.

"Circle, to arms!" Aela says, drawing her bow. In the next breath, the clang of metal against metal as weapons are pulled from their sheaths fills the air.

"Wait!" Avril shrieks, running forward with her arms outstretched. The Companions all glare at her with burning eyes.

"Avril," Vilkas warns, the first thing she's heard out of him this entire journey.

"Let me talk to my father," she says. "You are the Companions. If you are honorable, you will give me the chance to try and settle this before more blood has to be spilled. Both sides have lost much. I could end this here and now."

"And what if you can't?" Ria demands. "What if they attack? What are you going to do?"

Avril meets her gaze solemnly and says with no doubt in her voice, "I stand with you. The Companions will be cured today, whether we have to cut our way through the Silver Hand or not. If my father can't see reason in this... then he is no father of mine."

Much to his credit, Vilkas surprisingly looks impressed. He nods. "I say let her go. She's right. It's the honorable thing to do. If they make the first move, we fight."

Aela and Ria glance at each other uncertainly, and Farkas, who had been quite silent himself, says, "I agree. But I'm coming with her."

Now all eyes turn to him. "What?" Avril says.

Farkas steps forward and holds his out his sword horizontally toward Avril. "You left all you knew to come here and help us. You have earned my respect. My blade is yours. If they make a move against you, it will be my blade they face, Shield-Sister."

His words both stun and touch Avril deeply, making her face grow warm and her chest swell. Before she can sputter some embarrassing appreciative garble, she nods and says. "Very well. Come with me."

With that, Farkas sheaths his sword and he and Avril walk side by side toward the large group of Silver Hand warriors. Garrett's face remains stoic as they approach, but a flash of confusion is clear in his eyes as Avril and Farkas halt a few yards away from the group. Farkas keeps back as Avril comes even closer, a mere two feet away from her father.

"Father," she says.

"Avril. What are you doing?"

"I am helping the Companions, Father. They are here to seek their cure. Is that not what you want? To rid the world of the wolves?" Avril says, her arms hanging lamely at her sides and her fingers twitching with anxiety.

Garrett's mouth sits in a set line. "That is not our calling, Avril. The werewolves don't deserve a cure. They deserve nothing but their own deaths. Would you deny everything I've taught you? Everything you know?"

"Everything I know is wrong, Father!" Avril exclaims, earning many a confused muttering from the Silver Hand. "The Companions didn't make a deal with the witches, they were tricked! They aren't shaming Ysgramor, they are trying to prove themselves to Ysgramor by curing themselves and righting what was done wrong to them years ago! All we have been doing is passing down generations of lies and false history and pretending that we are in the right! We're _wrong!_ We have always been wrong!"

There isn't a breath on the ice fields as Avril's words echo through the air, ringing in the ears of every soul present. What seems like a thousand heartbeats later, Garrett frowns and draws his sword. "Lies! You have let those twisted mutts change your mind so easily? You've let them feed you these corruptions as if you aren't my own daughter? You shame me! You shame everything we are!"

"Everything we are is a lie, Father! How many Silver Hand will die today if you go through with this pointless war? Why is it that you would rather slaughter these innocent people, who have spent their whole lives fighting just as we have, who have been betrayed just as we were by our ancestors who hid the truth from us, than let them be cured so we can put this war behind us? Why do you want this bloodshed so badly, Father? Why are you so damn _bitter?"_

Several moments pass, several heartbeats, several shaking breaths until finally... Garrett draws his sword, and charges forward at his daughter, bellowing loudly.

Avril reaches for her bow, ready to defend herself, finally ready to face who she is and put an end to this when-

_Crunch._

A moment passes, Garrett's face frozen in shock, then the sword is pulled from his gut with a _zing_ and the Silver Hand High Chief crumples to the ground, his blood melting the ice.

Aaron stands there, stunned, and drops his blood-stained greatsword. He looks up at Avril, his face ghost white, his eyes wide. "Avril," he chokes out.

The Silver Hand simmer with confused mutters, shocked exclamations, and a few war cries.

Before the disarray can erupt into chaos, Avril steps forward and says in the loudest, strongest voice she can muster. "High Chief Garrett is dead. You all are free! The Silver Hand have been lead down a false path, and it ends here. Lay down your swords. There will be no battle here today. In honor of Ysgramor!"

There are several more moments of contemplation, everyone debating in their minds whether to commence the battle they came here for or to lay down their arms and accept Avril's declaration.

Finally, Aaron places himself beside Avril and raises his fist. "I stand with Avril! There will be no battle today!"

Farkas joins them on Avril's other side and says, "The Companions stand with Avril! She brings honor to Ysgramor!"

One-by-one, the Silver Hand nod their heads in acceptance and sheath their weapons. In off-sync, they clap their fists over their chests and shout, "Ysgramor!"

The rest of the Circle appears behind Avril, each smiling proudly.

"Well, look at that. The girl's got some brawn and some brain," says Ria, tipping her head toward Avril in acceptance. "Well done."

Aela steps forward and claps forearms with Avril. "You prove yourself this day, Shield-Sister."

Vilkas remains smiling, but says matter-of-factly, "Our mission isn't over yet. We still have to enter the tomb."

Avril nods and looks at each face before saying, "Let's finish what we started."

The Silver Hand part as the Circle approaches the tomb. None offer to follow, save for Aaron, who trails along beside Farkas. Avril opens the black Nordic door, and the Circle enter the fabled Tomb of Ysgramor.

The air is musty inside, a place untouched for who knows how long, and Avril has to cough a few times to get the dust out of her lungs.

"Well, upkeep certainly isn't something Ysgramor thought about for his infamous tomb," Avril says, stepping into the main chamber. Her mouth drops open at what she sees.

There, on his knees before the statue of Ysgramor, is Jon, hunched over with his face in his hands.

"Jon?" Avril says, her voice cracking.

Her brother stirs from his thoughts and rises, his face solemn. "Sister. I'm so sorry."

Avril rushes forward and wraps her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. "Father is dead, Jon, where were you?"

Jon closes his eyes and hugs his sister tightly. "I came ahead of the rest of them. I had hoped you would already be here, but Father and the men got here first so I hid inside. I wanted to stand with you, but I couldn't leave without being spotted, and if they caught me, Father would question me. I had hoped to come to warn you, but I guess I made a muck of that, didn't I? I watched when you arrived, saw you and the Companion confront Father and saw Father try to attack you and Aaron.."

His eyes flick to the dirty-blonde man standing beside Farkas and he releases Avril to step toward Aaron and grab him in a fierce embrace, the veins in both of their arms prominent from the strain of how tightly they hold each other. Avril spots a tear streaking from Aaron's closed eyes.

"I'm sorry," they both whisper to each other in unison.

When they part, Jon continues to say, "I was prepared to come out and fight with you if the Silver Hand attacked, but you," his eyes fall back upon his sister, "stopped them. You convinced them to lay down their weapons. I will never, ever be more proud of you, Avril, than I am now. You truly are our mother's daughter."

Avril smiles, her eyes moist, but she shakes her head quickly and turns to look at the statue. "We need to finish what we came here for."

Vilkas steps forward and draws Wuuthrad in all its glory, ascending the platform to place the weapon in its master's hands. Behind the statue, a stone door slides open to reveal the path ahead.

"Huh, it actually worked," says Ria. "I half expected nothing to happen."

"Have faith, Ria," says Vilkas. "We have a long path ahead of us."

"A long path ahead of _you,"_ says Jon, earning a confused glare from Avril.

"You're not coming?" she asks, brow uplifted.

"This is your mission. All of yours. I have no part, and I'm not going to intrude on Ysgramor's tomb when I'm not needed."

Avril nods solemnly, disappointed but understanding. "We will see you when we return, then."

"Me, too," says Aaron quickly, pulling our attention. "I'll stay here with Aaron."

Jon smiles and clutches Aaron's hand.

"Shall we be going, then?" says Aela, stepping toward the path that opened.

Avril nods and they stride deeper into the tomb.

 

The spirits of Companions past face them as they traverse the tomb, testing their mettle. Women in risque Nordic armor wielding bows, who make Avril wonder if that will be Aela when her days are past, and hulking men in heavy Nordic steel wielding greatswords and axes. In their fighting formation, Avril stays farther back in the group alongside Aela, firing arrows from afar, while Vilkas, Farkas, and Ria charge ahead. When the group comes across a chamber walled off by a thick spiderweb, Vilkas groans.

"I hate spiders," he grumbles, keeping back while Farkas and Ria hack at the web.

Avril lifts a brow. "Spiders? You're afraid of spiders, but luminescent ghosts of your ancestors aren't a problem?"

Vilkas frowns. "Ever since Dustman's Cairn, the things have been too much for me."

At that, Avril actually laughs. "Dustman's Cairn? _Really?_ You walked out of their afraid of spiders but not me?"

Vilkas scowls, and suddenly Avril realizes what she said. Aela and Ria both cast glances her way, their eyes swimming with mixed emotions.

Vilkas walked out of that cairn with more than a fear of spiders. He walked out carrying a whelp's corpse.

"You killed Erik?" Aela says, her voice strained.

Avril closes her eyes, biting her tongue. "I did. It was my Proving for the Silver Hand. I was sent there to kill a werewolf. That's... where I met Vilkas."

Ria holds up her hand and shakes her head. "I don't want to hear any more of this. That was then. This is now. It was a different time and you were a different person. We have a purpose here."

Avril stands there, stunned like everyone else in the room at Ria's -- _Ria's_ \-- defense. Just then, Farkas cuts his wak through the last of the webs and stumbles forward into the room. The signature sound of spitting Frostbite spiders pulls the group into the room behind Farkas to dispatch the creatures. Vilkas is notably hesitant at facing them, but they prevail nonetheless and tread deeper into the tomb.

The crypt soon opens up into a large room that drops down and then rises with a large stone staircase on the far side. Several spectral Companions appear to face them.

Once they are defeated, the Circle stands before the tall staircase and each of them takes a breath.

"This is it, isn't it?" Farkas asks, turning his head toward Vilkas and Avril on his left side but keeping his on the doors atop the stairs.

"Aye," says Vilkas. "Should be."

"Here goes nothing," says Avril, taking a deep breath to steady herself, and she ascends the stairs and pushes through the double doors.

 

The room descends into a pit where a blue fire flickers on a pedestal. There, beside the fire, stands the spectral materialization of Kodlak Whitemane, warming his hands over the fire.

Vilkas and Farkas are the first ones to rush down the stairs as soon as they see their lost Harbinger, Ria and Aela following swiftly behind, but Avril enters the chamber at an even pace, taking in the large area with a mix of awe and wonder. The Circle crowd around Kodlak, chattering and expressing their mourning for his lost. His honeyed voice echoes in the chamber, but Avril isn't worried about what he's saying. Their conversation isn't for her.

What she does hear, however, is Kodlak's warm voice say, "You there. I know you."

Avril turns and gazes at the spectral Harbinger, a brow uplifted. "Me?" she asks dumbly.

Kodlak extends a hand and beckons her closer. She obliges, arms nervously crossed over her stomach.

"I've seen you before. Once, in a dream." Kodlak's luminescent eyes gaze over Avril's form, smiling like he would when greeting an old friend.

"That's not possible," she says, tilting her head.

Kodlak's smile softens, and he nods. "Perhaps." He turns to the others and says, "Who has the witch heads?"

At that, Ria drops the pack that had been strapped to her back and pulls out a Hagraven head by the stringy, white hair, its face full of hatred and its eyes glassed over.

Kodlak gestures to the blue flame. "Toss the head into fire. It will release its magic, for me at least."

Ria does so, tossing the thing into the flickering blue embers, and the flames rise a few feet higher. Kodlak hunches over, his whole body shaking as a red wolf spirit emerges from him and throws its head back, howling. Then its shimmering eyes turn on the Circle, and they draw their weapons.

The wolf spirit fights like any other wolf. It is easily dispatched. Kodlak straightens and lets out a sigh of contentment.

"I've never felt more alive," he says, smiling cleverly. He gestures to Ria's pack. "Go on, do the rest. The magic knows what to do. Toss them in one at a time."

Thus begins the sequential curing of each member of the Circle. First Ria, then Aela, then Farkas, and finally, Vilkas. Vilkas's spirit is the weakest of them all, probably from his lack of succumbing to the blood as much as the others, and when all of their spirits are defeated and their lycanthropy cured, each Companions gives an equal sigh of relief.

"It is done," Kodlak says, spreading his arms. "It is as it should be. Well done."

Aela and Ria grin and hook their arms together, and Vilkas locks Farkas in a choke hold and grinds his knuckles into his hair, all of them laughing with triumph and the weightlessness of freedom. Avril watches contentedly, her arms wrapped around herself, proud at what she has helped accomplish.

"I'm so happy for all of you," she says, her eyes moist. "It's been wonderful helping you."

As every pair of eyes turns to her, she wonders herself the question that shines within them. What is she going to do now?

"I can't repay any of you for the deaths I've caused, or the deaths my father caused. I also can't repay the Silver Hand for everything they lost in this pointless war that my father wrought. I don't have a path, but I will find one eventually. Maybe one day I'll be able to earn my place somewhere, but I don't think that will be any time soon."

As Avril speaks, her sad eyes drift to Vilkas's stoic face, his eyes alight with a million emotions. Despite her having once been able to read him like a book, his expression confounds her.

Kodlak steps forward then and places a transparent hand upon Avril's shoulder.

"Young Avril. You have freed the Companions from the trickery that has plagued us for so long. You've brought honor to us, and honor to all the Harbingers past. They are here now, gazing upon all of you with such pride. You do not see them, because your heart knows only me, but I see them all. And you, Avril, though you may think otherwise, have a place among them. The rest of the Harbingers deserve their freedom from Hircine's grip, and that is something I shall quest toward now. I trust you to bring more honor upon Ysgramor... and lead the Companions to further glory."

With that, the spectral Kodlak turns to the Circle and dips his head in farewell, then fades before their eyes. Vilkas steps forward quickly, sticking his hand out in the air where Kodlak's image just was. He comes up with nothing, and clenches his hand into a fist, his face twisted with grief but his eyes resolute. He has the closure he needed, knowing that Kodlak's spirit is at last free, but the pain of losing him is suddenly fresh in his unhealed wounds of grief.

"Did I hear that right?" says Aela, approaching Avril. "Did he just say he wants you to _lead_ the Companions?"

Farkas seems to brighten up even more, impossibly so. "You are to be our Harbinger now?"

Suddenly all eyes are on Avril, and she meets them with equal shock. "I-"

"It's true," says Vilkas, squaring his shoulders and looking down upon Avril with a new emotion. Pride. Acceptance. Something else. "I accept her as Harbinger. She has earned it, and Kodlak wishes it so. I will accept it."

The other three look between each other uncertainly for a few moments, but their faces quickly change to equal acceptance.

"I do as well," says Aela. "I agree, she has earned it."

Ria lifts her sword and says, "To the Harbinger!"

The rest follow suit and say, "To the Harbinger!"

Avril looks at each of them, stunned. This is it.

This is it.

This is her father finally giving her a bow.

This is her mother breathing her last breath.

This is her uncle's head falling off the chopping block.

This is it.

This is her path. This is her place. This is where she needs to be.

This is what she's been waiting for.

Avril smiles suddenly, the moisture finally falling from her eyes as she raises Adrie high above her head, tilts her head back, and says, "For Ysgramor!"

"For Ysgramor!" they all chime in, and then melt into laughter. Aela and Ria nod their contentment and turn to head up the wooden stairs at the far side of the room, going to return to the main chamber, and Farkas follows behind them.

Vilkas, however, stays behind.

Avril looks up at him as she sheaths Adrie, confused. "Aren't you going with them?"

"No," he says simply.

She lifts a brow. "Why not?"

Vilkas stalks toward her and says, "There's something I've got to do first."

He cups her face, taking her by surprise, and their lips meet.

The world around them falls away.

The air crackles and sizzles with long overdue electricity, their energy mingling in the embrace that both of them have longed for for so long.

Avril's breath escapes her, her lips part, his tongue invades. She melts against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and tangling her fingers in his hair. Her body arches against him, one of his arms around her waist while the other flattens a palm against her back and draws her impossibly closer. She tugs his hair gently, earning a growl from deep within his chest, a wolfish expression that must not have left that Avril rejoices for.

Avril moves a hand lower to touch his cheek, dragging her thumb over the stubble spattered along his jaw and beneath his cheekbones. She drinks up every feature, memorizing every arch and curve and angle.

When their lips part, their breath mingles in the space between them and crackles with energy.

"I.. have been waiting.. so long.." Vilkas mutters, his eyes still closed as he drags his fingers over her cheeks, down the sides of her neck, over her shoulders, down her arms. "Avril, tell me you wanted this too. After the Underforge..."

Her thumb touches his lips to silence him. "Vilkas, you are a damned fool. I know I held back in the Underforge, but there was so much... just so _much._  It.. it wasn't the right time. Not with all of this waiting, not with everything still hanging over us. I had hoped... I had hoped you wouldn't let that one time overlook all of the rest of the time we've spent together, all of the time I've cherished, but I should have known better."

Vilkas shakes his head and kisses her again, _deeply,_ taking his and her breath away, each drinking up every piece of the other. Neither one pays any mind to the acquired fact that all of the spirits of the Harbingers past are gazing down upon them. Neither one cares.

"Stay with me," Avril whispers breathlessly.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't have a room.. in Jorvaskrr, so I assume that means I'm staying in Kodlak's room, and.. I don't want to sleep alone. I understand if you don't.. I mean, it's Kodlak's bed, or was his bed, and I-"

This time, it's Vilkas's finger quieting her. "Of course I will stay with you, now shut up and kiss me."

And in that moment, with her body trapped in his arms and the world around them a distant, inconsequential memory, Avril finds her place.

Avril finds her home.


End file.
